Daughter of the Dawn
by Kathoran
Summary: "What are you?" Aragorn asked, watching the dragon closely. She looked at him carefully, her bright eyes dimming with sadness. She lowered her head, veiling her eyes. The world suddenly seemed much darker with them hidden from view. "I do not know," she replied sadly. "Perhaps I never did." *Sequel to The Greenwood Trilogy* *Takes place between the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings*
1. Intro

_ Before you begin, I should remind you that this is a sequel to __The Greenwood Trilogy__. If you have not read __The Greenwood Trilogy__, I would recommend going and immediately doing so; otherwise the characters, places, and events in this story will do nothing but confuddle your mind. If you have read __The Greenwood Trilogy__, fantastic! Read on._


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One:

Aragorn led the way, his footsteps making little to no noise on the rocks littered along the base of the mountains. He and Legolas were travelling near Ered Mithrim, hoping to meet up with the rest of the Dúnedain within the next few weeks. So far they had made good time, stopping only at midday to eat and at dusk to sleep. Dawn found them moving again, two hunters passing through the wilds of the North.

"Aragorn."

Sensing the warning in his voice, the ranger stopped mid stride and turned to face his friend. The elf prince stood very still, his bow in his hands. An arrow rested on the string. Meeting Aragorn's stormy grey eyes with his bright blue ones, the elf nodded towards an outcropping some ways ahead.

_"What is it?"_ the young ranger asked softly, moving to stand beside the elf. Legolas shook his head, his normally smooth face drawn in worry. _"Is it orcs? Goblins? Dwarves?"_

The elf shook his head, his lips drawn in a thin line. He knew exactly what was ahead, and it would be a miracle if they were able to avoid it. In all likelihood, both he and his friend would be small piles of ash by the end of the hour, but he decided against telling his friend this. Instead, he glanced his way and smiled dryly. _"Dragon."_

The ranger looked shocked. Although he was nearly sixty years old, he still looked young for a mortal. He was of the line of Númenor, and he was to have a long life, at least by human standards—assuming he was not eaten or burned before he grew up. The elf winced. Both his brother, Maladernil, and sister, Aeyera, had told him to watch over Aragorn; he had a feeling that leading him directly into harm's way was not their idea of "keeping him safe." His sister, were she around, would surely be yelling at him for coming this way at all. However, it had been many years since he had seen her, and he did not think he would be able to meet her again for a long time.

Blinking, he turned his attention to the matter at hand. As skilled as the ranger was, he was also reckless; already he was reaching for his sword. Legolas's hand darted out and grabbed the ranger's wrist tightly, stopping it an inch away from the pommel. He shook his head and released him. _"Not that way, mellon nin,"_ he said, glancing at where he knew the beast to be. _"You would be dead in seconds."_

Aragorn nodded, his hands resting at his sides. Although he looked relaxed, the elf's keen eyes could see the minute tremors in his hands and the way his eye darted back and forth between the rocks and the forest several miles away. _"Perhaps we could run," _the ranger suggested softly. _"If the dragon did not hear us—"_

_ "It has heard us already," _the elf responded, utterly sure of that fact. The dragon's breathing had changed; it was fast paced and almost ragged. He sensed that it was weighing whether or not the two would be worth attacking; although he prayed that it would decide that they were not worth it, he doubted that it would rest in its cave, especially if it felt threatened.

_"Then why do we stand here still?" _Aragorn asked, no longer whispering. Legolas glanced at him warningly, but he was ignored. The ranger looked back towards the cave and took a step towards it. If, like Legolas had said, the dragon knew they were there, then there was no reason to speak as though it could not hear them.

_"Because only a fool would go looking for a fight he cannot win," _the elf snapped. The thought of his younger sister had gotten to him; he knew how much this particular ranger meant to her, having fought with both his father and grandfather, and he did not wish to break his promise by letting the man die. Besides this, Aragorn was one of his closest and most trusted friends; he would not willingly let him be killed.

The ranger managed to look offended. _"I am not looking for a fight," _he argued, spreading his hands wide. _"I only wish to let the creature know that we do mean it no harm."_

The elf prince smiled wryly, shifting his weight from one foot to another. He could sense the dragon's growing unease. _"Why do I not believe you?"_

_ "When have I ever lied to you, my friend?" _

Aragorn had a fair point. Never in their long years of knowing each other had either the elf or the man lied to one another. The elf nodded finally, growing worried. He could hear low growls coming from the rock, and could hear the shifting of gravel. Aragorn turned towards where the dragon hid and frowned. His hearing, although not quite as acute as that of the elves, was still much sharper than that of normal men. He could hear the dragon's growls without much difficulty, for they grew louder with each passing second. Legolas, who had sheathed his bow, grabbed his arm and pulled him behind a narrow ledge just as a hair-raising shriek tore through the air.

The two warriors held their breath as the thunderous growling continued. They did not expect to hear a voice, much less one that belonged to a young woman. She spoke in the common tongue, and her voice was both pained and scared. "I know you are there," she said. "Come out."

When neither of them moved, another shriek echoed across the mountain. Legolas recognize the frustration, and he realized with a chill that it was the dragon speaking. From his current position, he could see neither the dragon nor its shadow, so he had no idea how large it was. He also was somewhat confused. He had never heard of a female dragon before. Of course, they had to have existed, but there were no tales of them, no stories. The dragon spoke again, its—her—words accompanied by a sound like a boulder being crushed. "I said, come out!"

Legolas exchanged glanced with Aragorn. The dragon seemed to have no issue speaking to them—he had never heard of such a thing, but he supposed that they could speak in whatever language they wished—and also would surely have no issue tearing them apart, should it so choose. Legolas spoke first. _"Alright," _he said, keeping his voice calm even though he felt very anxious, both for Aragorn's life and his own. _"We are coming out."_

"Speak so that I can understand," the dragon replied testily.

Legolas blinked in surprise. So dragons did not understand all languages. _"Do nothing rash," _he told Aragorn softly. He switched to the common tongue. "I apologize," he said. "We are coming out."

Keeping his hands palm up in front of him so that the dragon might know that he meant it no harm, he stepped out, half expecting to meet his death in a flash of white-hot light. When no such end came, he turned around to face the dragon, Aragorn following. He stood quite still in surprise but kept his face impassive.

The elf prince had expected a large dragon, hulking with twisted muscle and sinew. He expected it to tower above he and Aragorn, its bright gold eyes flashing and razor sharp fangs bared in a feral smile. He expected its chest to glow with inner fire, its dark scales hard and unbreakable as the roots of a mountain.

One can understand, then, why he and Aragorn both stood, shocked, at the sight before them. A young dragon stood there, observing them with intelligent, albeit fearful, eyes. Legolas doubted that it was more than a year or two old. Its eyes were level with the elf's shoulder, and he found himself transfixed by them. They were the brightest, purest green he had seen in his many years, even having grown up in what now was known as the Mirkwood, but had once been called the Greenwood, known far and wide for its beauty. Wrenching his gaze away from that of the dragon, who seemed just as surprised to see them as they did to see it, he observed the rest of its body, trying to decide if the beast posed a substantial threat. He had the unnerving feeling that it was trying to figure out the same thing about them.

Its body, excluding its neck and tail, was about six feet long, its tail a bit shorter. Unlike what he imagined most dragons would be like, this one was lean and lithe. He wondered if it was so because it was female or because it was a different race than others akin to Smaug the terrible. He also wondered if it was a hatchling; it was so much smaller than others he had seen. The dragon's scales, unlike those of its kin, were bright like moonlight and shone like diamonds in the fading light of the sun. It was quite a beautiful creature, Legolas decided, although it might decide to kill them at a moment's notice.

The dragon shifted its weight, and he noticed that it winced, tucking its snowy white wing more firmly against its flank. He thought he caught sight of scarlet smeared across the membrane of the left wing, but it was hidden before he could take a closer look. As if reading his thoughts, the dragon turned its great head to face him, looking him in the eye. "I am a 'she'," the dragon said, her voice leaving no room for argument. "Not an 'it'."

Legolas nodded mutely. Aragorn made no move, and the elf was incredibly grateful for his friend's sudden show of wisdom; he had little to no doubt that the dragon would attack at the first hostile action.

"Dragon," the ranger began. The she-dragon whipped her head around to face him, moving forward until only a foot separated the two. Legolas froze, his heart beginning to pound in his chest. If the dragon attacked, he would be unable to protect his friend in time, and although she was clearly young, she still could tear their throats out if it pleased her.

"Do not call me that," she growled. She was much louder up close, Legolas numbly realized; his chest buzzed while she spoke.

"What do you wish to be called, then?" the ranger asked. A sad look entered the dragon's eyes, and she backed up until she stood several yards away. Aragorn looked extremely relieved at her actions and released the breath that he had been holding. Beads of sweat glistened on his brow.

The dragon hung her head, shifting the rocks under her claws. "I do not know," she replied, keeping her bright eyes fixed on the earth. "I do not think I have a name."

"How do you not have a name?" Legolas could not help but ask, moving slightly so as to stand in between she and his friend.

She sighed, a puff of smoke expelling from her nostrils. "If I ever had one, it has been forgotten." She looked up, and Legolas noticed that although she still seemed wary of them, she no longer seemed hostile. At the very least, he no longer felt that she was going to rip his throat out in the immediate future. "Tell me, elf," she said, her eyes flickering between the two. "Why do you and this man travel through Ered Mithrim? There is no civilization save that of the dwarves for many leagues."

"We go to meet a company of rangers near the base of the Misty Mountains," Legolas said, recognizing that she seemed to be singling him out as the leader of the two. "Trust me when I say to you that we did not mean to disturb you—or frighten you—in any way."

She cocked her head to one side, and the motion was so human that Legolas had to do a double take. Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Why should I trust you?" she questioned.

"Because I have never lied," he replied softly. She remained silent for a moment, holding his gaze. Her piercing eyes seemed to stare straight through him, and he wondered if dragons could read minds.

Suddenly her mouth opened, revealing several rows of sharp, white teeth. A rumbling growl came from her throat, along with an almost human noise, and her eyes drifted shut. Legolas flinched, but he quickly realized that she was laughing. In his fear, he had not recognized the sound for what it was, but now that he knew what she was doing, he felt much more at ease. Although _why _exactly she was laughing, he had no idea.

She ceased a few moments later and looked at him as if seeing him in a new light, her eyes dancing with mirth. "You are a very strange creature," she told him, and he had the strangest feeling that she was complimenting him. "As for your question, no. No dragons can read your mind." He started, suddenly more afraid than before. She moved closer to him, eyes wide, and stopped several feet away. Leaning forward, she touched his forehead with her nose, almost as if she were kissing it; blessing him. He had expected the scales to be hot and rough, but they were surprisingly cool and smooth, very alike to pearl. _"Do not fear,"_ she told him in his own tongue, backing up again. _"Emotions I can sense, but not thoughts. I was lucky enough to guess your question. I apologize for frightening you."_

Legolas looked at her in wonder, and Aragorn crossed his arms, looking at the dragon thoughtfully. _"How is it that you can speak in my tongue?" _the elf asked.

She laughed, and this time it was clear and sweet. He marveled again at how human she sounded. _"I cannot," _she answered. He felt that if she were of the race of elves or men, she would have been smiling. _"You are speaking in mine."_

"My lady," Aragorn interrupted, clearly at a loss of what to call her. She turned her emerald gaze on him, and he was relieved to see that it had softened considerably. "Do you plan on killing us?"

She looked surprised and somewhat miffed at the idea. "Of course not," she replied softly, settling down with a wince. "The elf is sincere in his words. You also do not plan to harm me. Why would I harm you in response?" Neither hunter had an answer for her.

"You are injured," Legolas suddenly spoke, startling the dragon slightly. She looked over at him, her face impassive. He was beginning to realize that, like elves, dragons expressed their emotions through their eyes rather than their faces. At least, that is how this particular dragon seemed to work. "How badly?"

She had curled up against the edge of the cliff, her wings tucked against her flanks and her tail wrapped around her tightly. "Why would you think that?" she asked.

"There is blood on your wing," Aragorn observed. The dragon pulled said wing closer to her, rubbing her nose against it softly, the way a bird might comb out its feathers.

"A group of men attacked me," she said softly, not looking at either of the warriors before her. "I barely managed to escape." She looked up, glancing between the two. "They were the first I have seen," she said softly as if speaking to herself. "I did nothing to harm them, but they attacked me." She spoke again, and this time Legolas recognized it as dragon-speech. He wondered if she had forgotten that he understood it. _"Mandos should have protected me."_

"Mandos?" Legolas repeated, floored. "The Vala?"

She eyed him angrily, and he realized that he was correct in his assumption that she had forgotten his knowledge of her language. "Yes," she muttered. "He is one of the few things I remember."

"What do you mean?" Legolas asked, sitting down beside her. On the ground, she towered above him, even though he rose above her standing up. Aragorn did not follow his example but remained on his feet, watching the lengthening shadows with concern.

"I cannot remember anything before I woke up here several months ago," the dragon explained. "Except for one name: Mandos. I know who he is, and I know where I am just as I remember my tongue and the common tongue, and just as I know what I am and what you both are. But I do not know who I am," she finished sadly.

Legolas said nothing, but his mind reeled. This dragon was no normal creature. Somehow she had been touched by one of the most powerful deities in Middle Earth, whether for good or for evil. The Vala had taken her memories, even her name, and had left her here. But why?

"Legolas," Aragorn spoke warningly. The elf turned to look at his friend. The stars were out, and the sun had set. Somehow the elf had fallen into his people's equivalent of sleep—although not for an extended period of time. The prince wondered how long his friend had been trying to attract his attention and stood, standing shoulder to shoulder with him. The dragon remained on the ground, watching them curiously.

_"What is wrong?"_ the elf asked, scanning the trees. Now that he was aware, he could detect the change in the woods around them. No crickets chirped, no owls hooted to each other from the branches. _"The woods are silent,"_ he said softly. _"Because of her?"_

He nodded to the dragon, but the ranger shook his head. "No." He drew his sword, and Legolas heard the dragon rise to her feet, snarling. "Because of _them_."


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

Aragorn and Legolas stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the dragon, shielding her partially from view. It was a futile attempt, but the dragon noticed it all the same.

A group of men stepped forward out of the shadows. How they had gotten so close, the hunters did not know, especially since the tree line stood nearly half a league away. Aragorn waited for them to speak first, seeking out the leader of these men. The dragon snarled softly, speaking in the same tongue she had earlier; Legolas responded in kind, not moving his eyes from the nearing men. They were out of earshot, so Aragorn spoke over his shoulder to the dragon, keeping his eyes on the impending threat.

"I thought you said that no one lived around here," he commented softly, his lips barely moving.

She answered with a low growl, clearly displeased with his lack of trust in her. "I said that there is no civilization for many leagues save that of the dwarves, and that even they live many leagues away from here." She paused, an almost amused tone creeping into her voice, "Unless, of course, you speak of the dragons. They live in the Withered Heath, should you decide to visit."

He shook his head, smiling slightly. "No, I do not think that would be wise. I assume that most dragons would not have hesitated to attack us both with fire had we stumbled upon their nests."

She did not answer him at first but spoke to Legolas once more in her strange tongue. The ranger grew frustrated. "What does she say?" he asked, keeping his voice nearly at a whisper. There was no moon tonight, and the only light was that of the stars, which seemed dim but illuminated the dragoness. She shone like the moon.

"She says for us to leave her," Legolas answered, sounding stunned. "That the men haven't seen us, but are the same ones who attacked her. She says that they have been tracking her for three days."

Aragorn thought for a moment and decided against leaving her alone. For whatever reason, the dragoness had been touched by the Valar and set on his and Legolas's path. He refused to leave her to torture and death. "No," he said firmly. Legolas looked at him in surprise but did not refute him. "We will stay and defend you."

It was at that moment that the company of men reached the trio, fanning out around them in a loose half-circle. Each man held his weapons at his side; to Aragorn's immense relief, none of them carried bows that were not strapped tightly to their backs, thus useless. The leader stepped forward, most notable for the gold dragon skin cape wrapped around his shoulders. The dragoness hissed when she saw him, but did not move. Legolas seemed torn as to whether he should stand next to her or to Aragorn. He decided on standing in between them, his bow held loosely in his hands. The three of them ended up forming a triangle, both hunters standing where they could protect the dragoness easily.

The man began speaking in rough Westron, spreading his arms wide. He smiled, his teeth and the whites of his eyes flashing in his dark face. Both he and his men were covered in dark war paint. "Friends, you seem to have found our dragon." Aragorn nodded his head, acknowledging the man's words, but did not otherwise respond. The man plowed on, eyes fixed greedily on the dragoness, who glared back, her eyes glowing in the dim light. "We wish for you to hand it over. We have no quarrel with you, but I cannot allow you to take what is mine. It is marked, see?" He gestured to her injured wing, and she hissed again, razor sharp fangs gleaming. "It is _mine._"

"No free creature, whether the creature be elf, man, dwarf, halfling, dragon, or wizard, belongs to any man," Aragorn answered calmly, resting his hands on his hips. Only Legolas noticed that now the ranger had immediate access to his knife and sword. "As for the dragon being marked, you injured her." He caught a glimpse of her fiery eyes flashing over to him in thanks for referring to her as a female and not as an "it," and he inclined his head a bit towards her in response.

"Why are you concerned?" the man asked, all countenance of friendliness gone. He drew his sword. "It is a beast; albeit a shiny one whose skin will fetch a great price. Step aside, lest you and your companion be slain."

Aragorn stepped forward again, wondering for a moment why this dragon was so worth protecting. He decided that at this moment, it was he and Legolas in danger; the dragon happened to be there. He shifted, his hand wrapping around the pommel of his sword. This time the man did notice it and his face hardened, eyes flashing. Legolas had an arrow nocked on the string but had not yet pulled back; he awaited the ranger's signal. "You should not threaten us," Aragorn warned softly. "Especially when we have a dragon on our side."

The man opened his mouth and raised his sword, the order to attack forming on his tongue. Without warning, Aragorn struck out, slicing the man's throat. Before the man's body had struck the ground, he had moved on to the next, who was fumbling with his sword. Aragorn's swiftness awarded he and Legolas a few seconds head start when it came to defending themselves.

The dragoness did her best to defend the two men, slashing at their enemies with her talons but not able to attack with her teeth. Aragorn wondered why she did not use fire to end the fight, but the thought quickly left his mind. The soft 'twang' of Legolas's bowstring and the whistling of arrows sang through the air.

Despite their efforts, they were not quick enough in their efforts to dispose of all the men. One had gotten through, and had swung his sword at the dragon's already injured wing as she went to attack a man approaching Legolas from behind. She let out a hair-raising scream as it connected with the bone, grating against it and breaking it cleanly in two. The man had no time to celebrate, however, for the dragon in her rage twisted around and clamped her jaws over and around the man's head, tightening them. She shook him once like a dog with a rabbit might, snapping his neck. She dropped him, and by then the other men were slain or had fled.

The two warriors stepped over to her, staring down at the man she had killed. She had bitten nearly all the way through his neck, slicing through almost all the bone and tissue; his head remained attached by a few tattered pieces of skin.

She shuddered, her scales rustling, and led them wordlessly to a spot about fifty yards away, where the bodies were unable to be seen. She then lay down on her stomach, wrapping her tail around her, and whimpered. She was unable to move her wing; it had dragged along the ground as she walked and now remained on the ground beside her, as limp as a windless sail.

Neither the man nor the elf knew how to respond, but Legolas broke the silence first. "We cannot linger her," he said softly, resting his hand on her silver head. Her eyes were closed, and Aragorn thought he caught the shimmer of a tear, but he dismissed it. Dragons do not cry, he decided. "There is a cave nearby," he continued. "We can go there and help mend your wing. Is that alright?"

The dragon opened her eyes and lifted her head to look directly at the elf. To his immense surprise, she spoke directly into his mind, her eyes whirling with countless emotions. _"I'd never killed anyone before today,"_ her voice came as a whisper, as if she was afraid he would banish her from his mind if she spoke too loudly. _"And now I have murdered at least one man, and injured many more. Do I deserve to be healed?"_

Legolas spoke aloud, having no idea how to respond to her in his mind. _"You were attacked, mellon nin," _he answered. _"They wanted to kill you. You deserve to live far more than they."_

She lowered her head, looking ashamed. _"I will not fight you, but I think you are wrong." _In the common tongue, she spoke again. "I will go with you," she said, slowly and painstakingly rising to her feet. Even Aragorn, who had seen many terrible wounds, including the man whose head had nearly been torn off his body, grimaced at the state of her wing.

The bone was shattered, and could be seen through the bloody mess of skin and membrane. Blood poured from the wound and dripped onto the ground. It was red, like human blood; for some reason Aragorn thought it might have been black like that of a goblin or orc. The wing dragged along the ground; the dragon was unable to lift it at all.

They led her to a cave a quarter league away; they were afraid to go any farther lest she become too tired to stand. The came to the back, checking the floor for hinges that often are found in goblin caves. They found none. It was quite large, with a high ceiling and a small opening in the top through which they could see the stars.

Aragorn left and went about gathering branches for a fire while Legolas cleaned off the blood around the dragon's wound so he could see it clearly. The dragon held as still as she could, her head buried under her front paws. Her claws covered her eyes, and Legolas noted with some concern that she was shivering, much like a dog before a thunderstorm.

Aragorn returned a few minutes later and began arranging the wood in a neat pyramid, setting half of it aside for later. Once done, he sat back and looked over at the dragon. "Do you need me to light it?" he asked curiously. "Or are you able to do it?"

The dragoness peeked up at him from between her talons, observing him with one bright green eye. "I am what is called a Cold Drake," she replied between clenched teeth. "Although I can breathe smoke, I cannot breathe fire. I apologize for the inconvenience."

The ranger held his hands out to show her he meant no harm, and she covered her eye again. Aragorn removed two pieces of flint and struck them together until sparks flew from them and lit the leaves. In no time at all, a fire was crackling merrily, and a small pot sat perched above it, water boiling inside it. Aragorn moved to the side and began crushing Athelas into the water, breathing deeply as the steam spilled over the top of the container.

_"Aragorn," _Legolas began. The ranger glanced up at his friend, who looked very worried. _"I'll need you to distract her while I do this. I have no wish to be bitten on accident."_

Aragorn nodded and turned to the dragon, handing Legolas several wet cloths. "Legolas is going to set your wing and bandage it as best as he is able," he told her. "Will you speak to me while he does?"

She nodded, lifting her head from under her paws. Some blood still stained the scales around her mouth and throat, but Aragorn did his best to ignore it. Legolas began to rinse away the blood on the wound, and the ranger went and took a thick branch from the pile. He came back and set it in his lap. He settled down and faced the dragoness. "I have a few questions," he began.

She stopped him. "As do I," she said softly, gasping in pain and flinching away from the elf.

"Would you like to speak first?" Aragorn asked. She shook her head, so he continued. "Alright. How old are you?"

"I do not know," she replied, keeping her bright eyes fixed on him. "I woke up several months ago with no memory. I know that I did not hatch recently; I would have a mother. I also think I am older than this because I know much of Middle Earth without having been taught since my awakening."

"It is just…" Aragorn paused, not sure how to voice his thought. "Many of your mannerisms are nearly… human. Your laugh, for example."

She tilted her head to one side, studying him. "How would you explain this?" she asked curiously.

"I do not know," he answered, frustrated. "It is very curious though. You say you have no memory of who you are, and yet you understand the workings of Middle Earth as well as any other. You know of the Valar, and have been touched by one. The one, I might add, that is most feared."

She blinked, perplexed. "Feared?"

"You will not have to face it for centuries," he said, leaning back. "But most on this earth fear death. Elves do not, as much, because they are immortal and will find their way to the Undying Lands. However, it is said that the elves who die will remain trapped in the Halls of Mandos until the end of time, should they be slain."

"You have my thanks, Strider," Legolas said irritably, glancing up from the dragon's wing. "I appreciate your lovely view of my people's afterlife. I especially am fond of being reminded of what will happen should I fail to defend myself while we are hiding from mindless poachers!" He turned back to his work, and Aragorn sat back on his heels, cowed.

The dragoness spoke a minute later. "What of love?" she asked, changing the subject. "Do your people have that?"

The ranger smiled, thinking of the elvish woman who held his heart. Legolas glanced warningly at him, telling him that he would soon set the dragon's wing. "Yes, we do," he said. He leaned forward onto his knees, offering the branch to her.

She looked down at it, confused. "Why do you offer me this?"

"Bite down on it," he said. "Legolas is about to set your bone." Fear entered her eyes, but she accepted the wood, biting down on it, hard. She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking. Aragorn nodded at the elf, who set his hands gently on her wing. One rested nearer to her back, the other on the opposite side of the break. "Alright, I'm going to help hold your wing down so you do not damage it more," he said, keeping his voice steady. He went and rested his hands next to where her wing met her shoulder. "Now!"

Right before he said 'now', Legolas gripped the bone tightly and wrenched it into place, pulling the two halves together as quickly and precisely as he could. Aragorn gripped her around the neck; it was the only way to keep her from hurting herself. She shrieked, trying to throw the ranger off. Her screams echoed through the cave, and Aragorn's heart twisted at the sound. He could hear sobs as well, and he wanted nothing more than to let go; he felt like it would help her. However, the two held fast. After a minute, she slumped to the ground, shaking and whimpering. She covered her snout with her paws, pushing the now splintered pieces of the branch away. Deep gouges had been made in the dirt by her claws, and smoke rose from her nostrils.

Wordlessly, Aragorn handed the soaked Athelas to the elf, who placed it over the wound before beginning to wrap it. Aragorn settled down next to her, resting his hand on her head. "You did well," he said. "The bone is set." When she didn't answer, he continued. "You'll need to keep the bandage and splint on for sixty days…" he trailed off, frowning. They could not very well leave her here alone; if the hunters came back, she would die. They also couldn't take her with them; she was too easy to spot.

Legolas began to chant softly over the wound, healing the gash as best he could. He nodded at Aragorn to continue speaking, but he didn't know what else to say. The dragoness spoke first. "Thank you," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

He looked at her curiously. "For what?"

Her eyes opened, and they glowed with a faint light even though they were clouded by pain. They fixed on him, and he found that he could not look away. Not by some spell, though; he was simply fascinated by her. "For saving my life."

All three of them were silent for a moment, the ranger staring at her in wonder. Legolas sat beside her and wrapped her wing, listening as Aragorn spoke softly to her, breaking the silence. "What are you?" Aragorn asked, watching the dragon closely. His voice held no small amount of awe. She looked up at him carefully, her bright orbs dimming with sadness. She lowered her head, veiling her eyes. The world suddenly seemed much darker with them hidden from view.

"I do not know," she replied sadly. "Perhaps I never did." She scratched at the earth with one of her talons, carving strange runes into the dirt. "I do not even have a name," she whispered.

Legolas spoke, looking over at Aragorn with a bright smile. "Telumë," he said.

She raised her head, puzzled, and Aragorn smiled softly. "It is your name," Aragorn said. "If you accept it."

Her eyes lit up, and the ranger felt that if she had been human, she would have been grinning ear to ear. "Telumë," she repeated, testing it out. She laughed suddenly, overjoyed. "I have a name! Telumë!"

Legolas laughed as well. "It is a strong name," he told her, eyes lighting up as she twisted her head around to look at him. "Bear it well."

She blinked. "What does it mean?"

"Warrior of the Sky," he said softly. "It is an elvish name, and a strong one at that. Consider yourself fortunate, for it is rare that we name others by our own names."

"Thank you." She gazed at him fondly and then spoke six words into his mind, her voice bright and lovely. The six words which, incidentally, changed both Legolas's and Aragorn's lives forever. _"I am forever in your debt."_


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

The next several days passed by agonizingly slowly for the three of them. Legolas and Aragorn had decided to wait a few of days with Telumë to make sure her wing was mending correctly. Miraculously, it seemed to be healing twice as fast as a human's bone might, but it still would be a month before she could fly again.

This left the two hunters with a problem.

Telumë had sworn an oath to protect them, and both doubted that she would go back on her word. They worried for her, for although she was a dragon, she was both small and injured, and at the moment, flightless. They argued with her, trying to persuade her to stay behind, but she adamantly refused. They had both saved and spared her life, she told them, and had given her a name. Therefore, she was bound to them until she decided her debt had been paid. Which, Legolas knew from her words in his mind, would be _never_.

Aragorn awoke the morning of the fourth day feeling refreshed. He knew in his heart that he and Legolas, whatever the situation, would be leaving that day. They had but two weeks to find and meet up the Dúnedain before making their way to Mirkwood. Afterwards, they would travel East to the Lonely Mountain.

Aragorn knew that Legolas wished to visit his sister and her companions. For it was Legolas's sister, the Lady Aeyera, who had travelled with the dwarf Prince Thorin Oakenshield and his company to reclaim the dwarf kingdom of Erebor some fifty years before. Aragorn had never had the pleasure of meeting her, but he knew that she had been a sort of sister-in-arms to the Dúnedain before he was born. He looked forward to meeting her; Legolas spoke of her often. He had learned from the other rangers that she had fought with them until several years before what now was known in the West as the Battle of the Five Armies, where she fought bravely alongside her kin, the dwarves of Erebor, the men of Esgaroth, and the Elves of Mirkwood.

He sighed. She was an exile, much like him. They were extraordinarily alike, actually. Exiled by their people, living with a different race, hiding from who they really were. He smiled ruefully, considering the parallels and glaring differences in their lives: she had chosen exile because she would not stand for injustice, while he had chosen it because was afraid of his destiny, afraid of what might come about should he fail to earn the title of King. She had gone and lived alongside the rangers after two decades of unspeakable torment, accepted by them for her skill with weapons and her ability to show mercy and justice. He had lived with the elves, learning their ways of both the mind and the body, fighting and reading.

He sighed again, albeit sadly, when he realized that they had in a sense traded lives.

Finally, they had hidden who they were; the Lady because she was ashamed and proud, too proud to allow her title and her father's name to define her, too ashamed to allow others to judge her based on her father's actions. He had hidden himself because he was afraid of being forced to take up the sword Narsil, afraid of being a leader.

_"Aragorn."_ Legolas had moved to stand beside him. Telumë was curled up several yards away, her wings covering her like blankets. _ "Have you decided?" _he asked softly. Aragorn knew that Legolas did not wish to leave the dragon behind, and he thought he might know why. He had left his sister so many years before. He had been unable to save her. Now he had a chance to save another.

The ranger shook his head. _"No. I know you want to save her, but—"_

_ "They have the same eyes," _the elf said softly, looking over at the sleeping dragon sadly.

Aragorn started. _"What?"_

_ "Telumë and Kiyera," _Legolas explained, glancing back at him. _"I had been thinking that she looked familiar, and I realized why last night; she and my siblings and niece have the same eyes."_

Aragorn glanced over at her. He hadn't noticed it, having not met any of the prince's relatives other than a brief meeting with the king some time ago. But something else did strike him, and he looked up at the elf in alarm. _"She has human eyes," _he said, standing. The elf frowned. _"I mean, they are larger, and they give light, but there is no doubt that they are not the eyes of a Drake."_

Legolas nodded slowly in agreement. _"You are right. What do you suppose we do? I do not wish to leave her, whether her eyes are human or not."_

Aragorn sighed as well, running a hand through his hair. After his realization about Legolas's ulterior motives and Legolas's own proclamation concerning his niece's eyes, he knew that it would be near impossible to convince the elf to leave Telumë behind. _"I know. Let me ask her once more, and her decision will determine our course."_

The elf nodded, pleased, and they waited for her to wake, stoking the fire as they did so.

_"I will come with you," _she spoke in Legolas's mind before he had realized she was awake. He glanced over at her to see her opening her eyes and stretching her limbs, getting rid of the stiffness that comes with sleeping on rock. She blinked sleepily, shuddering. Her scales fluttered, lifting slightly before settling down in their normal spots. "I am coming with you," she said out loud, lifting her head in a challenge.

"I know," Aragorn answered. "I know of your promise, and of your heart. I doubt that there is any force in Middle Earth that could keep you away after you swore such an oath, and it would be folly to try and send you away. Besides," he added. "Legolas seems to have grown quite fond of you."

She looked pleased and relieved. When she spoke, her voice was warm and joyful, and she might ever have been smiling. She bowed her head before lifting it and looking the ranger in the eye. "You have my thanks," she said gently. "I have grown quite fond of him as well."

Legolas stepped forward and placed a hand on her neck. She had to look up at him to meet his gaze. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked. Aragorn was surprise; the elf was the one who had been pushing for her to come in the first place.

She stared at him solemnly, and he nodded after a moment. "Very well," he said. He turned to the ranger. "We should begin. We have lost much time here and will not meet the Dúnedain in time if we do not hurry."

Aragorn picked up his pack and shouldered it. He had already put out the fire, but was unable to clear away the traces of their presence. There was no way to hide the runes and gouges in the stone floor of the cave made by Telumë, so he didn't bother doing anything other than filling in some of the strange letters on the floor with dirt.

Legolas led the way to the front of the cave, the other two following quickly. "The bodies were removed two days past," he told them softly. "It is unclear whether the remainder of the men will come after us."

"Let us hope that we will be far away by that time," Aragorn said, leading them forward. He headed towards the woods and glanced at the small dragon behind him. "Dragons have an acute sense of smell," he commented. "Can you tell if any others are near?"

She lifted her muzzle into the air, sniffing it. "No one," she told him. "Except for several deer nearly half a league away. I still can smell the men's blood," she said softly, looking away. She shuddered, her scales ruffling so that the light glinted off them like diamonds. "So much blood."

"It was not your fault." Legolas moved back to walk beside her as they entered the forest. It was quite old; not nearly as old as Fangorn, but still old enough to warrant respect from the wood-elf. These woods bordered the Greenwood for many leagues and would provide shelter for the three companions on their journey.

"Wasn't it?" she asked, her voice sorrowful. "If you had not tried to protect me, those men would not have died. If I had not spoken to you, perhaps you would not have decided to help me, and—"

"Our decisions are our own," Aragorn interrupted gently, his stern tone ending her flow of words. "And neither I nor Legolas regret them."

The trio continued walking, their footsteps the only non-natural sound in the woods. Birds sang, small creatures scampered along the branches, and a cool wind whispered through the trees. Telumë remained silent, eyes downcast.

The elf felt concerned for her. Aragorn had been right, in a sense—Legolas desperately wanted to help Telumë. Not only because of the strange relation with his sister and niece, but because of how different she was from other dragons; how humanlike she seemed. No dragon was so good an actor as to allow herself to become wounded and humiliated in exchange for a meal; Legolas wasn't even sure if dragons this young ate men, let alone elves.

_"None of this was your fault," _he told her softly in her own tongue.

_"Perhaps you do not see it," _she replied, lifting her eyes to meet his. It truly was uncanny how similar this dragon and his niece seemed; one of the reasons he felt so comfortable around her was because of how alike the two were. He found himself wondering that he two could have met, but he banished the thought. It was impossible.

_"Then show me," _he answered.

She sighed. _"I cannot," _she said, _"For I do not understand it all myself. I have a nagging feeling in the back of my mind that something is wrong… that somehow I am not where I should be."_

_ "How do you mean?" _Legolas asked curiously.

"Do either of you plan on speaking in a language I can understand?" Aragorn asked, glancing back at the two of them, a hint of an entertained smile upon his lips. "It is terribly uninteresting to walk alone and have no one to speak with."

Telumë answered first. "Something is wrong." Aragorn instantly froze, his hand flying to the handle of his sword. "No, there is no one around," she told him, eyeing him in amusement. "Put away your sword."

He did so reluctantly and began walking again. "Do not startle me so, Telumë," he told her.

"I apologize," she replied. "But something is wrong. Not with our surroundings, but with my mind." Legolas very nearly walked into the nearest tree. Her words were so similar to those of his sister, before the darkness plaguing her had been banished by their mother's spirit. He forced himself to pay attention as she continued. "I have a feeling that there is something I should remember, but cannot." She growled in frustration. "It is right _there_!" she exclaimed. "Right along with my name. I _must _remember it!"

"Some things are hidden from us for a reason," Legolas told her softly.

She hummed, eyes darkening. "Perhaps," she murmured. Something ahead caught her attention and she moved forward quickly, easily outpacing her companions. Something was wrong, she felt it; she just could not recall what.

"Telumë!" Both the man and the elf called her name, but she ignored them, galloping through the trees. Her heart raced, and apprehension twisted his insides into knots.

The scent of blood reached her nose. She moved faster, seeing a break in the trees. The sunlight shone through the branches, hiding whatever lay on the other side. The scent of rot grew stronger, as did the smell of smoke. As she burst through the treeline, she threw her forepaw back and caught a hold of a nearby trunk, barely preventing herself from falling from the cliff before her. She blinked up at the sunlight, waiting for whatever was below her to become clear. When it did, she recoiled in horror, cowering back into the trees in fear.

Below her stood what was left of a village, one of the homes of the Woodmen. It stood in shambles. The houses were charred, the animals slaughtered in the fields. In some cases, they were torn open, their bowels spilled out over the ground. Flies swarmed around them. Worst were the people. Bodies were everywhere, some even at the foot of the cliff she now stood on. Men, women, children; mowed down where they stood. The ground was red and black with blood both old and new. It had been several days, she knew from the smell, although it looked as though some had bled out more slowly than others. It was clear from one look that there had been no survivors.

She let out an agonized cry, standing up on her hind legs and shrieking up at the sky. Somehow this sight pained her like nothing she could ever have remembered feeling before. A lone shred of a memory—was it hers? —brushed her mind.

_"'No, no—' a girl was saying. A boy—a young man, rather—lay on the ground. He had slightly pointed ears and dark hair much like her own, but it now was dark with blood. She shook him frantically, her voice choked with sobs. His head lolled from side to side. Blood coated the right side of his face; it soaked the ground, spilling from a gash in his throat. His eyes were half open, rolled back in his head so only the whites showed. 'I'll kill you!' she screamed to her brother's attackers, cradling her brother's head in her lap. The cowards who had done this ran; the men of the village pursued them. Her brother's breathing was ragged; he choked on his own blood. 'I'll find a way to bring you back,' she whispered, brushing his hair back with her fingertips. They came away sticky with blood, and she nearly retched. The smell of blood and smoke was so strong... 'I promise.'_

_ 'No,' he choked, his brown irises showing for a moment before disappearing once more. His hand tightened around hers for a moment, then let go. He breathed out one final word before he left. 'No.' _

_ 'No—' Tears made their way down her cheeks and dripped onto his face, clearing away some of the blood. 'No! Don't go,' she whimpered. 'Don't leave me—' he was gone. Her throat burned as a tidal wave of fury and hatred unlike anything she had ever felt lifted her off her feet. 'Do you hear me?!' her voice cracked as she stood, shrieking at them with all the breath in her lungs. 'I'll kill you for what you did! I'll kill you!'_

_ One of the murderers looked back, and—"_

Telumë staggered back, breathing heavily. Tears rolled down her snout and peppered the ground. Tiny wisps of steam rose up from where they landed. Legolas and Aragorn burst out of the forest behind her and skidded to a halt, staring in revulsion at the carnage below them.

"What happened here?" Aragorn murmured, eyes wide. His face was ashen. Legolas said nothing but took everything in silently, his blue eyes clouded over in grief.

She shook her head, unable to speak and unable to tear her eyes from the hellish nightmare below. She replayed the memory over and over in her head; it wasn't fading, to her surprise. Who was the boy? Her brother? That was impossible, the children were human—but how could she have someone else's memory? The face though… it had filled her with such rage, such white-hot hatred; she had torn apart the tree beside her with her claws. She knew that face. It was the face of the man who had broken her wing; the one whose neck she had severed with her teeth.

"We can not make it down there," Aragorn said sorrowfully. "The hour grows late, and it would take days to find the path into the valley. My people depart with or without us in a fortnight; we must go."

"We cannot leave them!" Telumë finally was able to tear her gaze from the body of a tiny girl and turned to the ranger, shocked. "We cannot leave them for the crows and buzzards, we must bury them, or—"

"Telumë," Legolas said softly. She turned to face him, green eyes wide and horrified. "We must go."

"But—"

Aragorn cut her off. "Now."

Her eyes narrowed as her resolve hardened. "No. If I go alone, I will find you again. I promise." She turned and faced the cliff. It was no more than a hundred feet high, and she crouched down like a cat ready to pounce. She spoke without looking back, feeling the shock radiating from both of them. Her tail swished back and forth, keeping her balanced. "I will do it alone if I must, but I will not allow them to remain trapped in this world without a chance of making it to the next." She frowned; where had those words come from?

It did not matter, she decided. She took a deep breath and sprang forward, feeling the air on her scales for a moment before she twisted around and slammed against the rock face, digging her talons into the stone and sliding to a halt. She climbed down in this way, not checking to see if the two were behind her. When she reached the ground, she immediately felt afraid and sick. __

She forced herself to go up to the nearest group of people. She wanted nothing more than to scream and tear whoever had done this limb from limb. There was a woman on the ground, and two children lay beside her. The children were face down, and the cracks in the stone that branched away from them were filled with their lifeblood. Their small, white limbs were bent at horrible angles, as if broken.

If that weren't terrible enough, the mother, who was face up, had been pregnant. _Had been_. It appeared that she had been torn open, because her lower abdomen was soaked with blood, and she skin and innards were in tatters. A spear protruded from her stomach, and her baby— Telumë choked, stepping backwards. Her baby was impaled on the top of the spear. It was probably only a few weeks away from being ready to have been born. Its skin was purple now, and it was clear that crows had ravaged both it—she—and her family. _She._

The dragon turned and began digging frantically, working the softer dirt until she had made a hole several feet deep and wide. She made her way to the family and slowly began moving the two younger children to the grave, trying not to look at their faces. She laid them gently in the hole, and then returned to the mother and her child.

She didn't know how to remove the baby without hurting it, and she didn't want it to be laid to rest like this—she cried out in frustration and pain, stalking back and forth in front of the mother.

"Let me," Legolas's voice reached her ears. She lifted her eyes to see the blonde elf step forward and remove the babe carefully from the spearhead. Using an extra blanket from his pack, he wrapped the child and cradled her in his arms, his face crestfallen. He murmured to the baby in words Telumë did not know, so she turned and removed the spear from the mother with her teeth, being careful not to harm the woman's body. She did not know how the two had managed to reach the ground, but she did not care anymore. Who would do such a horrible thing to a mother—and children?

Aragorn stepped up beside her and lifted the woman into his arms. "I will carry her," he said softly. His face was drawn and strained as if he had just walked through a war zone. He had, in a way. The ranger stepped over to the grave and set the woman inside gently.

Telumë moved over to Legolas and pressed her nose gently to the babe's forehead. If not for her discolored skin, she could have been sleeping. "She deserves a name," Telumë croaked, looking up at the elf.

"Lotsë," he said softly, looking down at the child. Tears rolled down his cheeks unashamedly. "Little Flower."

Telumë nodded, stepping back as the elf placed the child in her mother's arms. "It is a beautiful name," she whispered. Without another word, the three companions filled in the grave, then moved on to the others. By the time night fell, all the villagers had been buried. There had been two other pregnant women in the village, one with twins. All had met the same end as the first, and all the children had been given their own names.

The stars were coming out when they finally left the village and entered the forest again. Telumë had not spoken a single word since the first burial, and all three seemed to be in some state of horror. They broke apart and made camp an hour later, huddling together unconsciously. None of them wanted to be alone. Telumë stayed awake long into the night, keeping guard over her companions, tears falling from her eyes to the ground.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

At some point during the night, Legolas realized that Telumë was not asleep. Both he and Aragorn rested against her warm sides, none of them thinking it wise to light a fire so close to the mountains. The stars shone overhead. The constellation the Dwarves called Durin's Crown hung to the north, and the moonlight filtered through the eaves above their heads.

The dragon's tail was curled around the feet of the man and elf, coming to an end beside her right forepaw. She lay with her left paw crossed to rest upon her right, and her head was held high. The stars shone off her scales, and she could have been made of marble if not for her glimmering green eyes, which glowed with intelligence and sorrow. Steam rose up from her nostrils as she sighed.

_"You should be resting, young prince,"_ the dragoness told him softly, speaking into his mind so as to not wake Aragorn. She did not move her gaze from the hills to the north.

He started, surprised; she hadn't had to look in his direction to know that he was awake. Elves did not sleep but for a few exceptions—his sister being one of the few who did—but instead entered a sort of dream-like state. Their bodies remained the same; however, Telumë must have realized that he was conscious. He marveled at her skills at perception and once again wondered at her, drawing one knee to his chest and slinging his arm over it. Why was she so different from the tales of dragons he had heard all his long years? They all had told of the great firedrakes that would tear and destroy; Smaug himself was a powerful example of this. However, Telumë seemed to be gentle and kind, at least towards himself and Aragorn. He thought of how heartbroken she had appeared the night before as she struggled to bury the families and unborn children that had been slaughtered.

He remembered the third and final instance in which the dragon had approached the defiled mother. Her babies—twins—had been torn apart, their body parts scattered around their mother. He recalled how Telumë had approached and then leapt back as if burned, keening in grief. She had buried the babies together, their mother below them. He shuddered at the memory.

Suddenly the other piece of her statement registered in his mind, and he shifted against her side. _"Why do you call me 'prince'?"_ he asked. She swung her head around until their faces were less than a foot away. Her bright eyes glowed, and a puff of warm breath blew the stray hairs back from the elf's face. He held his breath without realizing it, blue eyes wide.

_"Because that is what you are, are you not?" _She blinked slowly, letting out another puff of breath. Her uninjured wing stretched out over her head before settling back against the ridges along her spine. Her left wing remained pressed against her side. _ "You carry yourself like a prince, unlike your companion. He is strange," s_he commented, turning her emerald gaze on the sleeping ranger. Her scaly eyebrows furrowed together, and she tilted her head slightly. _"For although he does not carry himself in the same manner you do, he still shines with light. I do not doubt that he comes from the line of kings as well. A different line, of course," _she added, turning her eyes back onto the elf. _"But a king all the same."_

The elf nodded mutely, struggling to decide whether or not her perception was a blessing or a was indeed descended from the Númenóreans, the line of the kings of Gondor descended from Elendil.

_"You are surprised," _her young voice echoed in his head as she settled her head upon her arms. She lifted her eyes to look at him. The light that shone from them was not simply in his imagination, he decided. It illuminated the blades of grass around them, giving them a needle-like appearance. _"It was a secret, wasn't it?"_

He glanced at his friend. The ranger's chin rested upon his chest, and his arms were crossed over his torso, one hand resting on the hilt of his dagger even in sleep. _"Yes," _he told her. _"It would be dangerous for his true name to be revealed. Most know him as Strider, not Aragorn. That name is dangerous outside of our company and that of the Dúnedain."_

_ "I understand," _she said, glancing at the ranger again. She sighed, shuddering. Legolas flinched at the peculiar feeling of her scales fluttering under him, and he leaned forward until they were settled.

_"Something troubles you," _he decided, watching the bothered look in her eyes. The crickets around them chirped, singing their songs to one owl hooted and swooped overhead. The dragon watched with sad eyes, her own wings shaking slightly. _"You will be able to fly soon enough," _he told her softly, placing a pale hand on her flank.

_"I know," _she answered, her voice a little higher than a whisper in his mind. _"That is not what troubles me. I do not understand why I do not remember anything."_

_ "Perhaps you hit your head?" _Legolas suggested.

She snorted in laughter, a puff of steam rising up into the air. Aragorn shifted against her side, moving so his cheek was pressed against it. She regarded him fondly as she spoke. _"I very much doubt that a stone could harm me, Legolas. My scales, though not as strong as they will become, can still withstand something so insignificant as a pebble." _Her eyes clouded and she shuddered again, her scales rustling like leaves caught in a summer wind. _"A thought entered my mind when I happened upon the first family. I do not know if it was a dream or a memory or even a memory of a dream…" _she whimpered, sighing. Legolas stroked the scales along her neck, and she relaxed slightly but still looked ahead instead of at him. He waited patiently for her to begin. _"It was of a girl. She held her brother's body in her arms and was screaming at his murderers and begging him to stay with her. Right before he died, she promised to bring him back." _She paused. _"Is that possible? To bring someone back from the dead?"_

Legolas blinked, taken aback. To bring someone back from death… he wasn't sure if it was possible, let alone probable. If anyone could, it would be Mandos, the Vala, but…

A horrible thought entered his mind, but he kept it to himself. _"I do not know," _he told her instead. _"But I doubt it. If it could be done, it would have been done long ago." _She nodded, but the elf couldn't tell if she was satisfied by his answer or not. _"Sleep now," _he chided gently, laying his hand in the grass beside his hip. _"If another one of these dreams comes, tell me. I will take watch for a while."_

She blinked tiredly in agreement and settled down in the grass, curling her tail and neck around to surround her companions. Within minutes her breathing had evened out, her eyes closed. The elf laid his head back to rest against the ridges of her back and lifted his face up to face the stars, keen ears listening for any sounds disrupting the stillness of the night.

Meanwhile, Telumë was being plagued by a swirl of dreams and nightmares, both twisting together to form a writing mass of confusion.

_ "Once again Telumë was stuck in a memory, but this time she found herself watching it instead of experiencing it. An older woman and a young girl stood before her in a wooden home. The girl had pale skin and long, dark hair. Her eyes were closed, and her arched eyebrows were furrowed. The tips of her ears were covered by her hair. Her cheeks were flushed._

_ The woman could have once been beautiful, but time had worn her down to a shell of what she had once been. Her eyes were brown flecked with gold, and her white hair stood out in sharp contrast to her tanned, leathery skin. Her shoulders were hunched as if she held a great burden, and she looked upon the girl before her with pity._

_ 'He's gone.'_

_ The girl opened her eyes and stared defiantly at the woman before her. Her eyes, which seemed nearly to glow in the half-light, were bright green. They were narrowed nearly to slits, though, and were rimmed with red and puffy from crying. 'There has to be a way,' the girl growled, her voice catching in her throat. 'There has to be a way to bring him back.'_

_ 'None but the Valar can cheat death, child—' the old woman tried to speak, but the angered girl cut her off. Telumë realized that the girl was the same one who had lost her brother in a raid. The same girl who had sworn revenge on the man she herself had killed._

_ 'Then I will go to the Valar and demand them to bring him back!'_

_ The old woman started and stared at the girl in horror as if she had uttered the language of Mordor. As the girl turned to exit the home, the old woman lashed out and seized the girl's wrist, jerking her back. 'Think, girl,' the woman barked, shaking her slightly. 'What you ask is impossible.'_

_ The girl angrily pulled away from the woman's iron grip, shattered eyes sparkling with unshed tears. 'I thank you for your hospitality,' she said stiffly, shouldering her pack. The dragon noticed that she wore a white tunic and breeches like a man with leather boots that reached nearly to her knees. A hunting knife was strapped to her side, and a quiver rested on her back, bow tied loosely to the side. She turned, tresses coming to rest over her right shoulder, and glanced up, straight into Telumë's eyes."_

Her eyes snapped open and she jerked her head up, leaping to her feet. Aragorn awoke with a stifled shout as he fell backwards, but Legolas already was on his feet. He watched the dragon in concern. She shuddered and walked in a circle, shaking. Another memory… the girl seemed so familiar, but how?

"Telumë," Legolas said softly, breaking her out of her thoughts. The sky was just beginning to lighten, and dew soaked the grass and clothing of her companions. "The dawn comes swiftly, we must journey on." She nodded, sitting down as they broke camp, packing their things away.

When they finished, she rose and followed after the elf, breathing in the fresh air of a new day. Birds began to awaken as the sun peeked over the horizon, dousing the land in warm silvery light. The feathered creatures began singing to one another happily as squirrels, awakened by the racket, chased each other around tree trunks, pausing for a moment to observe the visitors before continuing in their game. Aragorn followed the two ethereal beings, rubbing the back of his head irritably.

They stopped only once to eat and refill their water skins. Telumë did not eat; like most dragons, she could go for a long time without food. Also, even if she had been hungry, she doubted she would have been able to eat. The swift of memories from the previous day raced around in her mind. Why was she seeing these flashes? What did they mean? Who was the girl?

"The rangers have not heard from your sister in many a year," Aragorn was saying to Legolas. They skirted a clearing and reentered the woods, treading carefully around the knarred roots crisscrossing their path. "They will want to hear how she has been. What will you tell them?"

The elf sighed, his face pained. He continued walking, not bothering to face his friend. Telumë nudged him gently with her muzzle, and he placed his hand on her crown. "What I must."

"They will want to see her," the ranger said after a moment. He sensed the wall rising around the elf but plowed on anyway. "How will you tell them that—"

"I do not know, _Elessar,_" the elf prince snapped. His bright eyes were filled with such sadness that the dragon cried out softly in response, feeling his pain as if it were her own. What had happened to his sister to bring him such grief? "You are their chieftain. If you care so much, keep their questions at bay."

"What was her name?" Telumë asked. The elf kept his gaze straight ahead.

"Aeyera," he replied, a small smile gracing his lips. "She is also called _Celebhiril _and _Tindómiel. _The Grey Wizard took a particular interest in her. She is much younger than I, but much braver. She walked with the Dúnedain and fought alongside men, elves, dwarves, and eagles. She was the strongest of any I have met, withstanding torture and darkness and loss until the end."

"The end?" Telumë repeated hesitantly. The way they had spoken of her, one as if she lived and the other as if she had passed… what had happened? The feeling of heartbreak hit her as the face of the girl's brother passed before her eyes. She shook her head as a cold feeling passed over her.

Neither of her companions seemed to notice. Legolas was trapped in his own thoughts, and Aragorn listened, enraptured. A shadow passed over the elf's face as he turned away to face the woods to the south. "Aye. Until the end. I hope to see her again soon, but I know not if our paths will cross again. I doubt that she even wants to see me now."

Telumë nodded, not daring to speak again. It was clearly a sore subject for the elf, and she had no wish to cause him more pain. From then on, she walked in silence, pondering his words. She felt that she knew loss, but knew not where. Perhaps she had the same bond with the girl as she did with Legolas? Maybe the girl had been forgotten like everything else. Perhaps she felt the girl's emotions like she did the elf's—that was it, she decided. Nothing made sense.

Aragorn watched his friend with sad eyes. He noticed how his shoulders had slumped, how his face had fallen. His bright eyes had dimmed, and his voice had been filled with despair. He placed his hand on the elf's shoulder but said nothing, simply allowing his friend to know that he wasn't alone.

He had never faced a loss like his friend; he couldn't imagine what it had felt like to be divided from his sister in such a manner, both by marriage and the most recent atrocity. Legolas had done the right thing in letting her go; she had been happy, but he had been left behind. He himself had lost both his parents at a young age; he could not remember his father and could barely recall an image of his mother to mind.

The elf had lived many lives of men and had lost his mother and father; he wondered how he could stand being here alone. _'Of course,'_ Aragorn chided himself, _'he's not alone. Not really.' _The ranger watched the dragon, how she kept up with the two of them and comforted the elf by her silence. He trusted her, surprisingly. If he had any doubts before, they had been buried with the village the day before. No bloodthirsty beast would have wailed and buried the dead as she had done.

What are you? He asked silently, watching as her tail moved back and forth in time with her steps, helping her balance. She glanced over at him, brow furrowed, but said nothing. Aragorn wondered if she had heard his thoughts but decided against it. She and Legolas seemed to have a special bond of sorts, both understanding her language and speaking without words. He sighed. It did not matter. She would stay with them until they found the Dúnedain, and then they would see if she would go her own way. The ranger had no wish for her to be harmed.

The trio made their way through the forest side by side, each pondering his or her own thoughts, not realizing that their paths and minds had been so intertwined.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

The next few days passed in blissful peace. The company came upon no more villages, human or otherwise, and did not happen upon dangerous creatures. Although, Legolas could have sworn he heard Telumë speaking to someone one night, someone who replied in a deep, slow voice and moved away with creaking footsteps. The next morning, there were no signs of tracks: other than root-like imprints on the dirt. When questioned, the dragon had bobbed her head in what seemed to be the dragonish way of shrugging and had said nothing, either through her mind or her mouth.

On the sixth day after their run-in with the human village, while Telumë was off hunting, Aragorn seized his first opportunity to speak to Legolas about the dragon. Several days before he had had the feeling that she had heard his thoughts when he had wondered 'what are you?' Although she had promised she would never read his mind—indeed, she had said that it was impossible, although she and Legolas still could speak to one another—he still had his doubts. _"Legolas," _he said quickly, glancing around to make sure Telumë was not coming back. _"I must ask you something."_

_ "Anything, my friend," _he answered, looking over in confusion. His bright eyes seemed darkened as of late, and the ranger hoped it had nothing to do with their third companion.

_"Do you trust her?" _he asked. The elf looked up in surprise. _"Telumë," _Aragorn clarified.

Legolas nodded, eyeing his friend with curiosity. _"With my life. Why?"_

Aragorn hesitated for a brief moment but decided to speak, plowing forward. _"Because she—"_

Suddenly a great crashing on their left startled them both, effectively cutting off their conversation. "What—"

A piercing shriek rang out, echoing through the trees. Both the man and the elf doubled over, pressing their palms against their ears to block out the noise. It was horrible: worse than any sound either of them had ever heard before. The shriek was cut off by a dragon's roar, and the two of them looked up at each other for a fraction of a second before darting towards the sound, unsheathing their weapons as they went.

Legolas always managed to stay a few paces ahead of the ranger, although his progress was somewhat impeded by the thick woods. All the while, the air rang shrill with shrieks and screams from both the dragon and the unknown creature. When they finally made it to the source of the noise, they nearly dropped their weapons in shock. They had emerged onto the edge of the forest and now stood looking out over an enormous plane. What captured their attention, however, were the two beasts tearing each other apart. One was obviously Telumë. She was less than a quarter the size of the other and yet seemed to be holding her own fairly well.

The other was a creature of nightmares. It was huge and sleek with silver-grey skin like that of an eel. It had great wings, though they now were tattered by work of the dragon's teeth, and a long break, from which the horrible sound emanated. Its eyes were black and empty as death, and terror seemed to radiate from it, clearly intending to paralyze those whom it fought.

Legolas unsheathed his bow and placed an arrow on the string, waiting for a break in the fight. Telumë did not seem to notice they were there, although she fought with a greater ferocity than before. Her green eyes had narrowed to slits, and—Aragorn blinked in surprise. Was he imagining it, or were there small tongues of fire flickering in her maw?

The grey beast jabbed at her with its beak, knocking her aside, and she landed some ways away, skidding to a halt and leaving a deep furrow of tilled earth in her wake. She laid still, sides heaving, and looked around, dazed and confused.

Aragorn's eyes locked with hers, however, and all trace of weariness left her instantly. Her green eyes, which had been unfocused and tired a moment before, hardened in resolve. The great beast had been bearing down on her, but she threw herself upwards and reared back, standing on her rear legs and spreading her wings—both injured and well—to their full extent. She opened wide her mouth and roared, summoning forth an inferno of golden flames. Both the man and elf leapt back into the trees, astounded. She rushed forward and attacked the beast, surrounded by a firestorm of her own invention. The beast was shrieking and thrashing, trying to escape, but she dug her talons into its flesh and held on, finally ceasing the onslaught of fire and instead clamping her razor sharp teeth on its neck. Once the flames and smoke cleared, it became clear that the beast was tiring quickly. Its skin—though not damaged nearly as much as that of a normal creature's would have been (that is to say, vaporized)—was blistered and bloody. Its eyes had been gouged out, and its wings torn to shreds. Black blood oozed from a hundred wounds, and its shriek grew weaker and weaker, although it continued to fight as hard as it could to throw off the young, white dragon astride it. Legolas had frozen and stood with his bow pulled taut, not sure whether to fire or not. Aragorn placed his hand on the sleek wood and gently pressed it down as the beast fell to its knees.

"The battle is won," he said softly as the elf stared on with horrified eyes. He grasped his friend's shoulder, looking at him in concern. _"Mellon nin?"_

"It is a fell beast she fights," he whispered, bright eyes dimming as he lowered them to the ground. "One that I prayed I would never see."

The beast had finally collapsed, keening weakly. Black blood gushed from its neck, which was all but torn apart, and spread around it, soaking into the ground and poisoning it. Telumë continued tearing at the beast until its head was torn asunder from its body, not ceasing until it sat several paces away from the rest of the corpse.

The sky had turned dark during the fight as clouds had rolled in from the west. When it was done, she turned and limped over to where her two companions stood. Her silvery scales were stained black, and scarlet blood dripped from her snout and the other wounds littered across her body. Compared to the creature behind her, however, she had fared rather well. When she reached the pair at the edge of the woods, she slumped down, nearly collapsing in the grass. Her chin touched the grass and her body shook with tremors.

Legolas reached out to touch her, but she lifted her head, backing away from him. "No, Prince," she said. Her voice was tired and weak, and her eyes flickered between the two of them as if she could not decide whom to focus on. "The blood that covers me is poison. If you touch it, you _will _die."

The elf withdrew his hand as if burned, and Aragorn spoke, eyeing the darkening clouds with trepidation. "There was a river half a league to the South," he offered, pointing. "We should—"

"No," she answered forcefully. "Anything I touch will become alike to poison and will die. If I touch a river, it will be corrupted. If I touch skin, it will blister and burn."

Thunder rolled overhead and lightning cackled through the clouds. Telumë lifted her head to face the sky, closed her eyes, and sighed as the rain began to pour down from the heavens. The elf and ranger stepped back as the rain washed the black sludge off the dragon's scales, making sure not to touch it as it pooled on the ground around her.

When it all had slid from her body, she stepped over it onto solid ground and led the way back into the forest, never once stopping to speak to either of her companions. It was only after they had gone more than a league that she stopped and collapsed to the ground in exhaustion. The elf rushed forward and placed his hand on her side, and this time she didn't stop him. The ranger approached more slowly, but knelt by her head and placed a hand on her snout.

"What was that foul creature?" Aragorn asked, looking over at the elf.

His friend shook his head, eyes screwed shut. "I had hoped I would never see one," he whispered. "I have heard stories," he told the ranger, opening his eyes and looking up at him solemnly. "Stories of a nightmare without a name, older even than the dragons. Older even than the elves," he added softly.

Telumë shuddered, scales fluttering and shaking off small droplets of water. The thick canopy shielded them from most of the rain, but some still made it through the leaves and onto their heads. "I have heard of it," she murmured, shaking. "I knew how to fight it."

"You breathed fire," Legolas pointed out. Aragorn turned to her, eyeing her with some level of distrust. She had told them upon their meeting that she could not produce the tiniest flame, much less the inferno that had burst forth from her maw.

"I know. I did not know I could until now," she said, opening one great eye and focusing it on Aragorn. "But I did not lie to you. Either of you."

There it was again. That subtle hint; that way with words that suggested that she knew what he was thinking. He opened his mouth to speak, but Legolas beat him to it, asking a question that had lingered in his mind. "How did you?" he asked. Telumë swung her eye around to look at him instead. "How did you summon forth the flames?"

"The Grey Fell was bearing down on you," she said, momentarily giving the slaughtered beast a title. "I could feel its intentions from ten leagues away. It had been sent to kill you. I could not let that happen."

Aragorn frowned. "It was sent to kill us?" he asked, disbelief evident in his voice. "By whom?"

The dragon glared back and answered testily, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "I'm afraid I forgot to ask it; I was too busy _tearing_ _it_ _apart._"

She heaved herself to her feet and stumbled around until she reached a small hollow, curling in on herself and tucking her head under her tail. Her body language made it clear that she would not be sharing her heat tonight, and that building a fire would be necessary. Aragorn glanced at Legolas, who was gazing at the dragon with a sort of dazed look on his face. He blinked, and then looked over at his friend, frowning. "She saved our lives, you know," The elf said softly, removing his pack. "You would do well to remember that."

Aragorn shifted, feeling slightly guilty by his behavior. "I'm not good at trusting people," he said softly, turning his back on the sleeping dragon and taking off his pack as well.

The sky had gone nearly completely dark, and the wind whistled through the trees. Aragorn went to start a fire, but Telumë stopped him, growling softly. "Not here," she murmured softly, bright eyes glowing softly. "Never here."

She lifted her wing and inspected it before tucking it back, making room for her two companions beside her. They looked at each other and, by some unspoken agreement, both crossed to lean against her side. Her scales were warm and dry, despite the rain. Her chest seemed to glow with a soft golden light, so when she draped her wing over them, the space was dimly lit. The soft pitter-patter of rain tapped against the pale membrane of her wing, and the space quickly became comfortably warm. "How do you know that the creature was here to kill us?" Aragorn asked softly, stretching out on the ground and using his pack as a pillow under his head. He lay on his stomach and crossed his arms under his chest, propping himself up as he looked over at where her head should have been. It was outside the makeshift tent, keeping watch over the surrounding woods.

"It told me."

She shuddered, and Legolas noticed with concern that several of her cuts still bled onto the ground. Curiously, though, her blood was a bright red, not the inky black like that of the fell creature and that of orcs. Her scales fluttered, sounding like leaves shuddering in the wind, but settled after a moment. They waited patiently for her to speak, and her voice was heavy with dread when she finally did. "It spoke in my mind. It described all that it was going to do to you, and I—" her voice broke, and her rounded snout appeared inside the makeshift tent, inches from Aragorn's face. Her eyes were filled with fear. "I couldn't let that happen. I had hoped that I could distract it long enough for you both to escape, but when I saw you at the edge of the clearing… something snapped. I know that I had to protect you both, so I did. I promise that I did not lie to you about my ability to produce fire, though, Aragorn. Truly, before today I could not produce so much as a spark."

"How can a Cold Drake become a Fire Drake, though?" Legolas asked thoughtfully, leaning back against her side. She hummed and shifted to rest on her other side, allowing Legolas to sit back and cross his legs in front of him.

"I do not know," she answered softly. "Perhaps the Vala you spoke of whom you believe took my memory can answer your question."

"Until I reach the undying lands, I can not speak to him," Legolas answered, sounding slightly regretful. "However, it is unlikely that I will see him even there. He stays within his halls, governing the souls that pass through them."

"I understand," she answered. She pulled her head back out and resumed her watch, eyeing the darkness with apprehension. She doubted that the Grey Fell had been working alone—an arrow could have pierced its heart and destroyed it much faster than her fire had. She snorted, and although the air around her grew slightly warmer, no flames appeared from her mouth. She sighed and rested her head on her paws. She had had several more glimpses of dreams, none of them clear. That was why she had spoken to the Ent a few days prior—she had hoped that he might have had some idea of what she was experiencing. However, once she had calmed the frightened creature down and convinced him that she was not there to burn him, he had told her that he had never had an experience such as hers, having never lost his memory or been a dragon. He had, however, told her that most dragons embodied the spirits of evil elves, men, and dwarves. He had looked at her funnily, saying, "Curious, curious…" without explanation. When she asked what he meant, he replied—in a great many more, slower words, mind you—that she did not seem evil at all, and that she seemed to glow with an almost reverent light. It was around this time that the man—and the elf, who had passed so deeply into the realm of dreams so as to be considered unconscious—began to stir and she had bid the Ent farewell.

Aragorn had questioned her about the strange voice he had heard, but she shrugged, an almost human habit she somehow had acquired. She growled softly in frustration. Why couldn't she remember anything?

As she settled in, her mind began to drift. She began to shift into the realm of dreams Legolas spoke of so often, even though she remained aware of everything going on around her.

_"She was standing in the forest in the middle of the night. She was no longer a dragon, but was not a human either. She was close to the Misty Mountains; very close to Rivendell, in fact. She held her sword tightly in one hand, the other tightly fisting her cloak as the freezing wind blew harder. A howl sounded from nearby, then another, then another. She began to run, never loosening her grip on the blade; her only defense against the creatures of the night. She burst into a clearing and whirled around just in time to see the first wolf burst out of the tree line. Its plate-sized paws marred the clear snow, sending it up in an icy spray as it skidded to a stop. Its yellow eyes glinted evilly in the moonlight, and it snarled, drool dripped from its bloody maw. Her heart beat wildly against her chest, and she screamed. There was no way that anything could be worse. 'Help! Please! Someone, help!'_

_ The wolf snarled and leapt forward, catching her steel in its shoulder. It yelped and sprang away, limping, even as the next few came charging into the clearing. The glade was littered with footprints now, and the frozen, brown earth could be seen through the soiled snow. Droplets of blood speckled the pure surface, and the other wolves began to circle, eyeing her carefully._

_ She took a deep breath, turning. Every time she heard one dart forward, she would whirl around, but each time the others would take the opportunity to inch forward, tightening the noose. She cried out again as one of the wolves darted forward, snapping at her legs. '_HELP!_'_

_ Two of the wolves charged at once while the others looked on. One leapt at her sword arm, but as she batted it away, the other slammed into her from the side, knocking her to the ground. Her sword flew from her hand, hitting the wolf by happy chance, and she was defenseless. She curled into a ball as the wolves began to howl and stalk closer._

_ One brave one leapt forward and sank its teeth into her shoulder, and she screamed, jerking against it and struggling to throw it off. The sudden _twanging _of bowstrings filled the air, and the wolves scattered as the arrows found their marks. The wolf that had been biting her collapsed to the ground, releasing its hold on her shoulder. She looked up in time to see a company of men rush into the clearing, all hooded in worn travel cloaks. _

_ The one whom she presumed to be the leader knelt down beside her, pushing back his hood as he pressed his fingers against the bleeding wound in her shoulder. He looked up, grey eyes meeting her frightened green ones. 'Hold on,' Aragorn said as the girl sank back, vision blurring. 'You're safe now.'"_


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter 6:

Telumë opened her eyes and was shocked to see that morning had already come. She lifted her head and looked around, startled and ashamed that she had fallen asleep on watch. The rain had stopped, thankfully, but water still dripped down from the leaves above her head. The sound of shuffling made her turn her great head and she chuckled softly when she realized that her companions were still at peace. One slept, the other dreamt, and both were fine.

The dream nagged at her, however. She tilted her head to peer down at her shoulder, the one that had been bitten in the dream, and was startled to find that the scales there were misaligned: what seemed to be the dragon equivalent to a human scar. Nosing it gently, she allowed her mind to wander as birdsong filled the air. Could it be possible that she had once been something other than a dragon? She knew that most dragons were the evil souls of the peoples of Middle Earth, whether they be elf, man, or dwarf. She also knew that something was different about her: had she been evil, the Grey Fell would not have attacked her. That much she knew for certain. It had spoken in her mind, a hissing, corrupt voice that had oozed malice. _"You are not one of us," _it had shrieked. _"You have been touched by he who opposes the One."_

At that point, they had clashed together, biting and scraping with their claws and teeth. Somehow, she had been relatively uninjured, and although her wing still ached, she knew she would be fine. She hummed softly and nosed Legolas's arm with her snout. If they wished to find their companions, they would need to be swift. They had less than a week to catch up to the Dúnedain, and were already several days behind.

Legolas's blue eyes focused on Telumë's green ones, and he smiled. "How are you feeling?" he asked gently, rising to his feet. She followed his movements with her eyes but did not rise yet; she allowed the ranger a few more moments of sleep before they continued on their journey.

"Better," she answered truthfully.

He hesitated for a moment before speaking again. "But your dreams… are you not troubled by them?"

Telumë, who had reached down to nuzzle Aragorn and awaken him, jerked her head up and twisted it around to face the elf. "What?"

"You were asleep," the prince said warily, clearly remembering the white-hot flames that had poured from her maw hours before. "So I kept watch. You were growling and whimpering in your sleep. Was something wrong?"

She let out a sharp breath, and the elf's hair fluttered back from his face. "My dreams are my own," she answered, her voice edged with steel. Most would have dropped the subject, but the elf plowed on, heedless of the dragon's anger.

"You told me you would tell me if they became worse," he countered. "Did you lie?"

She growled, eyes narrowing to slits. Aragorn shifted and leaned forward with a groan, rubbing his eyes. Telumë stood and bared her teeth, speaking into the elf's mind with more force than was necessary. _"_Never _call me a liar, elfling," _she hissed, heedless to the way her chest began to glow with heat. _"I do not deceive. Do not assume that I would lie to you, or to Aragorn, or to anyone else."_

The elf stood completely still, and sweat began to form on his face and chest. Not from fear, although he worried the dragon would not be able to control her anger and newfound ability—the air around the dragoness had gone very hot, such that the water on the grass around them had evaporated. Aragorn scrambled to his feet, fumbling for his sword, but Legolas stopped him with a look and continued speaking to Telumë, calming her down.

Aragorn's panicked gaze darted between his dearest friend and the dragon they had so recently come to know, his mind whirling. Something was wrong, he decided—her eyes were too bright, too angry. She was not herself.

"I did not intend to offend you," Legolas said, reaching out with his hands to show that he meant no harm. She stood, glaring at him with those overly bright eyes, watching his every move. "Your dreams are your own, you are right—I only wish to help you. Telumë," he said softly, touching her snout although it burned him. "Look at me."

She blinked, and her eyes dimmed, unfocused. She staggered slightly, and Legolas took a quick step back. Her eyes focused on him for a moment, and she fell to the ground and curled into a surprisingly small ball, her wings wrapping around her and her head in the center, hidden from their view.

She was shaking badly, eyes wide and horrified. What had happened? It was as if she were someone—something else. A dragon? She was a dragon… wasn't she? She had come so close to attacking her friends… she had _wanted _to attack them. A small sob escaped, and boiling tears ran down her face to the ground.

She could hear the two conversing, but was ashamed to appear again. She wondered again at what the Fell Grey had said—that 'she had been touched by he who opposed the One.' What did that mean?

She felt Legolas' light touch on her shoulder. _"Telumë, we must go."_ He spoke into her mind, and she was so surprised that she uncoiled slightly and peeked up at him through her wings. _"Aragorn knows you meant no harm. Telumë, we must go. Please, come."_

She uncoiled completely and rose, hanging her head. Without looking at either of them, she set off towards the direction of the Dúnedain, wave after wave of shame washing over her. How could she have lost control?

Her companions started after her and they walked in silence for a long while. Eventually Telumë spoke, carefully keeping her eyes averted from those of the ranger and the elf.

"Aragorn, have you ever rescued anyone?" She asked nervously. Her tail swished back and forth along the leaves covering the ground, and she sensed his hesitation as he pondered his answer. The ranger glanced warily at Legolas, who nodded his head at the dragon as if urging him to answer.

"Yes," he finally replied. He shifted his pack, rolling his shoulders.

"How?" she asked instantaneously. "Or rather, from what?"

He stared at her back in bewilderment and blinked, completely confused. "Bandits, soldiers, orcs, mercenaries… you name the danger, and the Dúnedain have saved someone from it."

"What about wolves?" she asked, finally turning around. Her bright green eyes seemed to glow in the growing gloom of the forest. As they made their way closer and closer to Mirkwood, shadows covered more and more of their surroundings.

He thought back to the lone girl several years ago, the one who had been attacked by a pack of wolves near Imladris. "Aye," he replied shortly. The foolish girl had run off as soon as her shoulder was mended, barely thanking Lord Elrond for his kindness and avoiding the rangers altogether.

Telumë stopped and turned around. Aragorn was so startled that he nearly ran into her. Her eyes were bright and panicked, and they searched his face as she spoke. "Who were they?"

"Stop."

Telumë and Aragorn froze and looked to Legolas, who held his hand in the air and searched the woods with keen eyes. Telumë listened carefully but heard nothing. The wood was eerily silent. The elf began leading them through the trees, moving swiftly and silently, turning back every few moments to wave them on. They made it half a league before Telumë caught the scent of men. She growled softly and nudged Aragorn forward, thus quickening the pace of the entire company.

They emerged at the edge of a clearing, but Telumë moved to stand in front of the others, not allowing them to cross. She looked into Legolas' eyes, veiling her own. _"I can smell them," _she told him.

He nodded and held out his arm, catching Aragorn across the chest as he tried to step over Telumë's tail. _"And I can hear them. Do they mean us harm?"_

A hunting horn sounded in the distance, and Telumë jumped. The sound was faint, but her scales fluttered nervously, and her tail whipped across the ground.

_"They know we are here," _she thought to him, an undercurrent of panic highlighting her fear. Legolas repeated her words to Aragorn in elvish, and the ranger reached for his sword. "No!" Telumë hissed, tucking her wings close to her sides and lying down under a large bush so as to conceal her silvery scales. "Do not draw your weapons."

She searched for them with her nose and ears, and froze when she realized what was happening. She sat still, horror and fear crashing over her like enormous, heart-stopping waves. They were tracking her.

Most of the day, Aragorn had walked in her tracks; and elves, of course, made no prints on the ground. The men were tracking a grounded dragon. She was unable to discern their intentions, but if they were anything like the murderers they had encountered weeks before, she would be dead in hours. She glanced at her companions, both of whom were too noble to allow someone to die for them without a fight. Her heart ached at the knowledge that she would have to leave them, but she knew it was the right thing to do. She stood and began making her way around the clearing without a word.

"Wait!" Legolas leapt over a fallen log and darted to stand on front of her, blocking her way. She growled and tried to go around him, but he refused to move.

"I swore to protect you, elfling," she murmured. "Both of you. The men are tracking me and will not harm you if I am gone. Stay here, and my debt will be repaid. I will not have you risk your lives again for mine."

Aragorn came and stood beside Legolas, arms folded over his chest. She nosed her way in between them and began stalking away quickly, making sure to gouge the earth with her claws so as to leave a clear trail. Her companions followed, despite her warning. The horn sounded again, much closer than before, and she began to gallop, ducking over and around branches as best she could. Her wing and shoulder ached. When she heard the two still breathing behind her, her fear grew, and she swung around, catching Aragorn in the chest with her bony jaw. He was not hurt badly, thankfully, merely winded. He staggered back.

_"Go!"_ she wailed, distressed. She could hear them now, moving quickly and quietly towards her. Knowing it was her only option, she swung her head again, throwing Aragorn into Legolas and knocking both of them to the ground. Before they realized what had happened, she took off across the clearing, focusing on the opposite tree line.

Halfway there. She could hear a river now, and she knew that if she could cross it, she would be safe.

Three quarters of the way there. The hunting horn sounded again, directly behind her. She moved faster, the small cuts hidden beneath her scales burning from the sweat. Did dragons sweat?

She though back to her dream as a flash of movement to her right caught her eye. She darted to the left, yards away from the trees. The horn sounded, directly in front of her. She reeled back, terrified and confused. Another answered, this one behind her. She whipped her head around, watching the dark headed men who had appeared around her. Each was clad in dark clothing much like Aragorn's, and each was armed with bow and blade.

One approached from before her, sword drawn, and she snarled at him, coiling back as if to spring. His face was veiled in shadow, but she could see beyond it. He had bright grey eyes that roved over her body and the men beyond her. He seemed wary, but to her surprise, he didn't seem ready to attack her. He held his sword defensively, and she crouched low to the ground, tail flicking back and forth, neither breathing eye contact with the other.

"Tengrid, enough!"

Aragorn strode through the procession, and the men whose weapons were drawn immediately sheathed them, nodding towards the ranger. The king, Telumë remembered. _Their _king.

"Aragorn," the man spoke, sheathing his sword and catching the ranger in a welcoming embrace. Legolas stood by the dragoness, one hand on her shoulder as she rose to her full height and observed those around her. "It is good to see you!"

"We did not expect to see you for half a fortnight, at least," Aragorn said softly, brow furrowing. "Did something happen?"

A shadow crossed the other man's face. Aragorn looked around the circle into the eyes of some of his men, and several of the other rangers glanced away as if afraid to hold his gaze for too long. "Aye," he said finally. "We happened upon a village not a hundred leagues from the land of the Carrock. Aragorn… every man, woman, and child had been slain." His face was too pale, too afraid. "Children, Aragorn." His voice cracked and wavered, and he looked away, shoulders sagging. "We thought that… that only orcs would do such a thing. When we found the tracks of men—men!—leading northeast, towards where we knew you to be, we followed."

"We found them," Aragorn said softly, grasping Tengrid's shoulder tightly. The man straightened up as if his leader's strength had seeped into him through his grip. "They were seeking to slay both us and our companion. Some were injured, some killed, but all scattered. We know not where they went."

"Yes, we do."

Every man save Aragorn turned in surprise when Telumë spoke. Although it was known by some that dragons could speak, it still came as a shock to hear the voice of a young woman instead of that of a grown man.

"What do you mean, Telumë?" Aragorn asked. Dozens of pairs of eyes turned to focus on her, waiting for her to speak again.

The dragon turned and looked to Legolas as if seeking assurance, and he nodded. The earth itself seemed to hold its breath as she spoke, and not a man said a word as she explained herself. "My companions and I happened upon a village half a fortnight ago," she said clearly, then wind carrying the sound to every ear in the clearing. "Every human had been brutally slaughtered as if worth little more than a beast. Indeed, even the beasts had been killed and left in the fields to rot." The memory of the unborn babies entered her mind, and she shuddered. Several pairs of eyes were drawn in fascination to her scales as they fluttered like leaves caught in the wind, but they returned to her meet her eyes when she continued speaking. "Even the unborn children—" her voice broke, and she hung her head, sorrow blossoming in her chest. "Even the unborn children were slain, ripped from their mothers wombs and placed upon the heads of spears."

The faces of the men were chalk white, though from anger or grief, she did not know. "We—we buried them," she said, her voice rising in pitch. "And while doing so, I saw a—a vision. It was the same men who desecrated this village, and yours, and the one I saw in my mind. The man who murdered the girl's brother was the same who injured my wing, and he is dead."

The men murmured amongst themselves. She realized too late that she had revealed more about her visions than she had intended, and braced herself for the questions that were sure to follow. "What girl?"

The question came from a man with steely grey eyes and hair the colour of straw. He gripped his bow loosely, but no arrow was set to the string, and his sword was not drawn.

"In my vision, I saw a young girl," she explained carefully, aware that the men remained wary of her. Indeed, she knew that the only reason they had not acted in hostility was because of her station as Aragorn's companion. Eru knew what a mistake could cost her. She didn't wish for any one of these men to become her enemy, and she would prefer that they thought her sane rather than unhinged. "A girl who wept over the dying body of her brother. His murderer was the same who tried to kill me; the same man who killed the people you found."

"How do you know?" a different man asked. His eyes were different colors: one green, one blue. They stared at hers, unblinking. All eyes, she realized, even those of Aragorn and Legolas, were riveted on her.

She swallowed as the scent of blood and sweat reached her nostrils. She heard the phantom clash of steel, heard the cries of dying men, and felt the burn of a sword hacking through her bone. She felt again the soft skin and tissue of a human neck as she tore through it with her teeth, felt the hot lifeblood of a man drip down her throat as her teeth sawed through his bone. She focused again on the men before her, and they each saw the horrified, haunted look in her eye as she turned and faced them one by one. She dropped her gaze but for a moment. "I killed him," she answered. "I wore his blood." She lifted her head and glared fiercely at Tengrid. He, to his credit, did not flinch, even when forced into a stare down against a dragon. A gleam of understanding entered his eye, and he nodded sadly to her as she spoke. Legolas placed his hand on her shoulder once again for comfort, and Aragorn lifted his silver gaze to meet her own. Every ranger felt his heart jolt, and not one of them felt fear or anger towards her as she spoke: only a great sorrow. "I know his scent as well as I know my own."


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter 7:

That night, Telumë and her companions settled in with the rest of the rangers. Both their treks had been cut short, and now they all took a well-deserved rest. The dragoness curled up, resting her head on her forepaws and tail. Legolas and Aragorn were recounting their journey to the other rangers, although she noticed that they were glossing over the more bestial aspects of the dragoness' behavior and painting her in a perfectly harmless light.

She wrapped her tail tighter around herself, wishing that she were a _black _dragon. Perhaps then it would be easier to hide from the rangers' stares. The firelight danced over the forms of the men, sending shadows whirling through the trees. Some rested upon bedrolls and some sat cross-legged across from her, the fire between them.

Legolas, she noticed gratefully, had taken to leaning against her while he spoke. The atmosphere relaxed visibly when he did so, and although none of the rangers made an attempt to speak to her, there were fewer wary glances sent in her direction as well. When he reached the part of the story with what she had fittingly named the Grey Fell—although it didn't really deserve a name at all—the rangers all sat up straighter, gazing at her with respect and awe.

"You… killed one of the creatures the Nazgul ride?" One of the rangers, who until that point had been scratching strange runes into the earth with his knife, sat up straight, grey eyes wide. She nodded, green eyes glowing. He blinked, respect flooding his features.

"The Nazgul?" Legolas repeated. "They have not walked this earth since before my time." He gazed around the fire as if waiting for someone to contradict him.

"Your time?" Telumë asked, swinging her head around to face him. "How old are you?"

He smiled. "Old enough to remember the beasts' defeat." He gazed over the rangers who sat in tense silence around the fire. "If anyone has news on this matter, let him come forth."

One of the older men whose hair shone silver stepped into the firelight. "Prince, there is much that your people missed whilst hiding in your woods." The elf's face hardened, and the ranger held up his hand to stop him from interrupting. "I know you had good reason, what with the dragon and all, but you still missed out on much that has happened in Middle Earth. Didn't Aeyera ever tell you?"

Legolas' shoulders sagged, and he shook his head wearily. "No. She did not."

"I'm sorry," the man said gently. "My father fought under her for many years, and I was able to meet her when I was a lad. She was an excellent huntress, if I remember correctly."

"Aye," Legolas said, a smile forming on his lips. Telumë watched the elf sadly, wondering what had happened to the elf maiden that would have hurt her brother so. Had she died? "She's a fine warrior, very skilled with bow and blade."

"How old was she?" Many heads turned towards the dragoness, and she ducked her head slightly as if blushing. "When you served with her?"

"She would be nearly two hundred and forty now," Legolas broke in. "She was barely twenty five when Erebor was attacked, and was nearly two hundred when the dragon Smaug was killed."

Telumë nodded, a bit disconcerted by the angry light that entered the elf's eyes at the mention of the dragon Smaug. She did not dwell on it for long, however, for another question was raised that caught the attention of everyone within earshot.

"Did she ever fall in love?"

Telumë and Legolas both lifted their heads and focused their eyes on the speaker, a young woman with dark hair and bright eyes. It was not until her hair shifted, revealing pointed ears, that Telumë realized that she was an elf. Aragorn lifted his head, removing his pipe stem from his mouth and eyeing the ranger curiously. The raven-haired elf shifted slightly. "Gwenithil, what do you mean?"

"Legolas, my husband grew up with you," Gwenithil said softly. "And he watched over your sister when you could not. You both lost her when she disappeared, but I helped her when she was in Rivendell and fought for her before the gates of Erebor. Both I and my husband did, as well as hundreds of others. Or have you forgotten?"

Legolas responded with an almost imperceptible shake of his head. "I have not."

Gwenithil nodded slowly, running her hands down the length of her bow, which rested across her bent knees. When she spoke again, she used each word deliberately, as if taking special care to pick only the ones that served her purpose best. "Legolas… your sister was a remarkable being. Her courage and faith inspired myself and my fellow warriors to take up arms against injustice—" Here she paused, but only for a moment, and locked eyes with the prince. "—Against your father's wishes. We fought for the dwarves, but when we returned, we found we were banished. We travelled to Imladris, where we were accepted with open arms and where we have remained since. My husband—" her voice cracked, and Telumë caught sight of a glimmer of madness in her eye. "My husband fell fighting alongside your sister as she defended a company of dwarves banded together under King Under the Mountain. Does she still owe him allegiance?"

"She owes nothing to the dwarves," Legolas said, staring bitterly into the flames.

Gwenithil leaned forward, allowing the fire to illuminate her face. Shadows danced across the sharp planes of her face and turned her eyes gold. "That is not what I understood. I shall ask again: did she ever find love?"

Legolas hesitated for a moment, and Telumë regarded him thoughtfully. He sighed and rubbed his forehead with his hand. "Aye," he said finally. "She did."

It was then that Telumë noticed that the rest of the rangers had gone silent, watching the exchange with curious eyes. "With whom?"

"With a mortal," Legolas stated softly. Murmurs and whispers began to spread around the fire, most of them astounded, shocked, even. Many of the older rangers smiled at one another, and Telumë could hear from their whispered words that they were happy for her.

"How would that work?" One of the younger rangers asked. When over half of the Dúnedain turned to him with patronizing looks, he backtracked quickly. "Age-wise, I mean."

"Our mother was half-elven," Legolas explained. "My sister always aged differently than I, keeping the appearance of an elfling until after she came of age."

"Longer than that, Prince," One of the rangers spoke up. "I served with her, remember. If she hadn't had that wise look in her eye and her pointed ears, she could have passed for a lass my daughter's age at the time. They're both all grown up now. But I served with her up until a decade after Arathorn's passing. I was with her when she found out, and she left soon after. I understood that she was headed for the Grey Havens; I suppose something change her mind."

"Aye," Legolas replied wryly. "A wizard." Several men chuckled in response, and Legolas waited until they had quieted to continue. "She has always had the choice to chose a mortal life and afterlife rather than pass on or travel to the Undying Lands. When the time came, she made her choice." Telumë wondered what that choice was, but the elf didn't clarify.

"And is she happy?"

Legolas remained quiet for a few moments, pondering his answer. When finally he spoke, his voice was so melancholy that boiling tears rose to the dragon's eyes, much to her chagrin. "I hope so," he said softly. "I truly hope so."

Gwenithil stared at her old friend for a few moments, watching his face, and then spoke. "Well I wish her all the luck in the world," she said softly. "I truly do."

Legolas nodded, and the two elves seemed to come to an unspoken understanding. Soon after, the other rangers stretched out on their bedrolls, tucking their arms under their chins or heads and dropping off to sleep. A few kept watch; some, including Gwenithil, guarded the perimeter while a couple stood like sentinels just outside the circle of firelight. Legolas remained, leaning against Telumë's side. They sat in comfortable silence, and she nuzzled her head against his side. His arm lay draped over her neck, his legs crossed. The pair stared into the fire, and as the night wore on, Telumë relayed her dreams to the elf. She told him of the dual personalities she struggled with, which explained her behavior the previous morning. She told him of the almost human characteristics she had discovered she had, including sweating and shrugging.

He sat in silence as she spoke, listening intently and allowing her to speak to him in his mind. When she finished, they both stayed quiet before the elf spoke, once again speaking only into her mind so as to not draw attention to the two of them.

_"I do not know what to make of this, Telumë," _he admitted, shifting against her side. He stretched, and then relaxed, turning his eyes up to stare at the stars.

_"Elves are reincarnated, aren't you?" _she asked. When he didn't respond, she continued. _"Could I have been one? And been reborn as a dragon?"_

He shook his head. _"I have heard stories of rebirth, but it was always as a mortal, never as a beast." _She snorted, eyeing him irritably, and he nudged her head gently. _"You know I mean no harm. I do not know what happened to you, Telumë. However," _he thought softly, _"I will help you find out, if I can."_

_ "Thank you." _She nudged him gently with her nose, and he leaned back against her warm scales as she snuggled deeper into the think grass beneath her. The stars shone overhead, and owls and larks called out to one another. As Telumë drifted off to sleep, the howl of a wolf floated through the air. A moment later, her eyes closed on the present and opened in the past.

_"'Wake up.' As her eyelids fluttered open, several things registered at once. First, she was no longer cold. The air was bright and warm and smelled of flowers even though it was springtime. Second, she was in a bed. It was large and comfortable, and blankets were piled high atop her body, which was clothed in a thin nightdress. Thirdly, and most remarkably, her shoulder didn't hurt. At least, not nearly as badly as it had when last she was awake. It was wrapped tightly in white dressings, and the sharp scent of medicine reached her nostrils._

_ A man stood beside her bedside, watching her with grey-blue eyes that seemed to be overflowing with wisdom. Not a man, she realized, catching sight of the pointed tips of his ears under the silver circlet he wore. An elf. 'I am glad you have awoken, child,' he said kindly, taking a seat on the edge of her bed. She simply nodded, cautious and confused. 'I am Lord Elrond,' he told her, and she flushed. She knew of him; he was one of the oldest beings in Middle Earth, one who had lived since the First Age. Her mother had told her of him, but she herself had never met him._

_ She ducked her head shyly, and then looked up at him. 'It is an honor to meet you, Lord Elrond,' she said softly. 'I must ask, thought; where am I?'_

_ 'You are in the city of Imladris,' he said, his voice soft and booming all at once. She decided that she liked him; he seemed more alike to a kind father than a great lord. 'In the common tongue, it is known as Rivendell.'_

_ The girl thought back to what –or who—had brought her here. 'A man found me in the woods,' she began._

_ Elrond cut her off. 'Yes,' he said. 'You were most fortunate that the Dúnedain were passing through the woods when you called for aid. Their leader, Strider, told me of how you were attacked by wolves. He also said you were travelling alone?'_

_ She nodded. 'Yes, sir.'_

_ 'And to where are you travelling?' he asked._

_ 'I am searching for something,' she replied, suddenly cautious. She did not wish to reveal her plans just yet; she had to find the Vala and speak to him. She couldn't allow anyone to discourage or stop her. 'For answers.'_

_ 'Answers to what?'_

_ The room began to swirl and buck, and light and color and sound whirled together, forming what looked almost like a face, only it glowed with light, emanating warmth. 'What you seek cannot be found, child,' a voice said gently. It was so deep that her very bones rattled, and the very air seemed to sing with joy when the voice sounded. Telumë wanted desperately for the voice to speak again; to do anything it asked, but the girl did not._

_ 'It must,' she replied. 'I have come too far—'_

_ 'Do you think that because you wish for something that it is entitled to you?' The voice questioned. The light intensified, and Telumë squeezed her eyes shut, although it did nothing; the light continued to shine through her eyelids. 'When you reach the end of this journey, you will discover only pain. Only death.'_

_ 'I know of pain and of death,' the girl retorted angrily. 'I have experience both.' _

_ 'No,' the voice replied sadly. 'You have felt sorrow, and you have felt the pain of death, but you have not experienced it. I promise you, child, that if you continue on this pain-driven path, only sorrow will come to you. You will not find what you seek.'_

_ 'How do you know what I want?' she answered haughtily._

_ 'I know all.' The girl fell silent. 'Go now, child. I will not force you to obey. I can, but I will not. This must be your choice. I will see you twice more, before your journey is done. I hope you make the right choice.'"_

The light disappeared as quickly as the snuffing out of a candle, and Telumë opened her eyes, blinking. The sky was still dark, though the stars had changed their positions. She rested her head on her paws. Who was this girl? She had a sneaking suspicion that she knew; that the answer lay at the edge of her mind, just out of reach—but she could not remember. She sighed, and a puff of smoke exited her nostrils. Legolas lay against her, eyes closed and arms crossed over his chest. Aragorn lay on his bedroll beside the fire, asleep. Telumë lay awake, watching over the camp, wondering about the girl and their pasts, and putting the mismatched pieces of their puzzle together as the night faded into the dawn.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter 8:

Before the rest of the camp stirred, Telumë made her way over to the raven-haired she-elf, Gwenithil. The elf had not slept, as seemed the norm for their kind, but instead stared at the sunrise, a vacant look in her eye. She did not move as the young dragon settled in beside her.

"May I ask you something?" the dragoness asked shyly.

The she-elf looked over at her and nodded, a faint smile on her lips. "Of course."

"You spoke of your husband, who fell defending the sister of Legolas… what was his name?"

Her eyes grew pained, and her lips thinned. "Aicanar. His name was Aicanar."

"What was he like?"

The elf turned back to the sunrise, letting the cool breeze blow back her hair as tears rolled down her cheeks. "He was as strong as a mountain," she began in a hushed voice. "Brave, honest, and true. Loyal to a fault," she added softly. "I miss him more with each passing day."

"I am sorry," the dragon said, looking down. "He loved you very much."

The she elf looked up sharply. "Why do you say that?"

Telumë blinked. "I—" For the briefest of moment, she had known something. She had gotten close to something very important, but she couldn't remember what it was. "I don't know. But if he loved you half as much as you love him, then he was very special."

Gwenithil looked away, again. "Yes."

"I have one other question," Telumë said softly, watching the she-elf warily. She had no wish to offend or scare away the widow. The elf nodded. "Legolas has spoken of his sister many times but always speaks of her with sadness… why?"

"Have you asked him?" she asked the dragoness.

"Briefly. He said he had not seen her in a long time, and that she had been brave until the end… what did he mean? What happened to her?"

"The Princess Aeyera has a very troubled past," Gwenithil said softly. "Her eldest brother was banished and her mother killed when she was six. When she was twenty five, her father banished her for trying to save the dwarves of Erebor—"

"From Smaug," Telumë muttered, staring down at the ground, scaly brow furrowed.

"How did you—?"

The dragoness shook her head, frustrated. "I do not know. Please, continue."

"Barely a fortnight after her banishment, she was captured by the Pale Orc and tortured for twenty years." Telumë winced and shifted, her tail moving to curl around her body protectively. "She was freed by the skin changer Beorn and, when she was healed, was taken in by the Dúnedain. A few here lived alongside her, a few more fought with her while she was here, but it was…" the elf thought for a moment. "Over a hundred years ago. A couple of the men and most of the elves have fought alongside her either as a part of the Dúnedain or at the Battle for Erebor."

"The Battle of the Five Armies."

Gwenithil turned to eye the dragon suspiciously. "How do you know all this?"

Telumë huffed irritably. She honestly had no idea. It was as if little bits and pieces of information were offering themselves up at inopportune moments. She told the elf so, and she continued speaking. Telumë resolved not to speak again.

"About fifty years ago, Aeyera left the Dúnedain. It is widely thought that she was on her way to the Grey Havens to travel to the Undying Lands, but some dismiss that belief because soon after she joined the company of Thorin Oakenshield. This was a band of dwarves hoping to reclaim their homeland from the dragon Smaug. She travelled with them and was gravely injured, thus brought to Rivendell. This is where we met. My husband was a good friend or her brother's, and had known her as a child. Several months after she left Rivendell, her eldest brother came and told us that our service was needed once again. He explained that the lady Galadriel had seen a horrible battle and sent for him to go and defend the mountain with his sister. We prepared and rode towards the mountain, and it was less than a week before our king received an eagle from his sister, begging him to come and fight with her. By then, we were already in Mirkwood. We would never have made it in time had we only received her letter; the eagle had been flying for hours before we received it. We arrived the following night and fought with her the next morning. The king in power at the time struck down my husband when he tried to keep him from retreating. He didn't kill him himself," she added, her voice low and angry. "But he may as well have. Azog the Defiler killed him before moving on to attack the Princess, who was fighting alongside her fiancé."

"Who was her fiancé?" Telumë asked curiously. She felt as though she had heard this story before but at the same time knew nothing about it.

"Kili, the dwarf prince of Erebor, nephew of Thorin Oakenshield."

The dragoness and she-elf both turned around to see Legolas standing behind them, arms crossed. He was unsmiling, but he looked more sad than angry. "What happened?" Telumë asked softly. Gwenithil got up and moved to stand with the elves at the far side of the camp, allowing Legolas to speak to Telumë privately.

The elf prince moved to sit against the dragon's side, letting the first rays of sunlight dance across his face. The men still slept. They had found their missing members and seemed to be enjoying the final tendrils of sleep before rising and continuing to the heart of Mirkwood.

When Legolas began speaking, he automatically switched into the dragon's tongue, _"Azog the Defiler, without knowing who he was, knocked the prince away from my sister. Had he known it was the prince, he surely would have killed him. An orc attacked my sister from behind, driving a knife into her calf and leaving her nearly defenseless against the pale orc. He took his sword and slashed her from thigh to shoulder across her body, throwing her into the stone. He would have run her through right then, but Kili and his brother, Fili, pulled her out of the way while their uncle the king stabbed the pale orc through the chest. Before he could escape, however, the orc ran Thorin through, and then died. The king's nephews were forced to leave and fight off the army that had seen the dwarf king fall, leaving my sister behind to comfort the king. She alone heard his last words, and then slipped into unconsciousness. _

_ "The princes found her, and my older brother brought her to the infirmary. She was alive, but barely. Without our knowledge, he had given her a shirt of mithril, a sort of silver than is as hard as dragon's scales and unable to be pierced by anything. She hit her head when she fell and she had lost much blood from her head wound as well as injuries to her calf, thigh, and arm. She slept for three days, and when she woke, she was blind." _

_"Blind?"_ the dragoness repeated softly, horrified. She couldn't imagine losing her sight; it would devastate her. Besides the physical wound, she would be mentally scarred as well. To lose her sight, one of the things that defines a dragon… she wouldn't be able to bear it.

_"Yes. However, the wizard Gandalf healed her and restored her sight. He tried to heal her other wounds as well, but she and the king both walked with a cane. She for only a few years, but she still has a limp."_

Telumë blinked. The king walked with a cane? She would have sworn that Legolas said he had passed. _"Thorin lived?"_

Legolas shook his head, thinking back to Thorin Oakenshield. The darkness had overwhelmed him so fully… he had seen him at the gate. Seen how he spoke to Aeyera. There was no glimmer of Thorin Oakenshield. Not until his final moments when he finally broke free. His nephews were better men than Thorin himself could ever have aspired to be. _"No. His nephew, Fili, was the crown prince. He is now the king of Erebor. He actually received his wound in part by protecting my father, who was trying to flee the battle when he was killed."_ Legolas's voice turned bitter for a moment, and he glared at the glowing horizon. _"Aeyera married the prince the following year. She suffered two miscarriages before she had their son, Kirin, and another before having a daughter, Kiyera. She has had two more since, and she and Kili have given up on having more children. The—" _Legolas swallowed, thinking of all the nieces and nephews of his that had died before they had even had a chance to breathe. _"The miscarriages nearly destroyed her. My sister has lost so much, and to lose five children… my sister is the strongest being I know, but even she can only endure so much. Her mind was already fragile before then; I do not think she could endure much more."_

Telumë stared at the ground, shifting the earth between her claws. She couldn't imagine losing so much. For a mortal, whose life was already so short and fragile… it would be devastating. _"Is that why you have not seen her? Because of the miscarriages?"_

The prince shook his head and dug his fingers into the grass beneath him. He pulled up several of the longer strands and began braiding them together, fashioning a complicated weave that was very different from the one in his hair. _"No. It was because of her living children. Two years ago, Kirin and Kiyera left Erebor to visit Bilbo Baggins in the Shire."_

_"Who is… Bilbo Baggins?"_ Telumë asked, frowning. She had never heard that name before, but it sounded quite funny. At the same time, though, it also confused her. Something about it sounded… wrong.

_"He is a Halfling," _Legolas continued.

_What in Middle Earth is a Halfling?_ Telumë wondered.

_"—A former member of Thorin Oakenshield's company, and a very dear friend of my sister's. They went alone; Kirin was of age, and Kiyera was almost of age. However, they disappeared. They never made it to the Shire. According to the Woodsmen, they never made it past the edges of Mirkwood. They told us all that that my niece had fled their village and that my nephew had been killed, but they didn't have his body. My sister…"_ Legolas rested his face in his hands. _"It was all Kili could do to keep her sane. She was nearly driven mad by worry and grief. After all she had been through, to lose both her children in a moment…"_ he took a deep breath, twisting his fingers in his hair. _"I was the one to tell her. To have to deliver such news to her and then to watch her world shatter, to see it in her eyes…"_ He threw his head back, hitting in on Telumë's scaly flank. The two were silent. Legolas took nearly a minute to compose himself while Telumë waited, boiling tears forming in her eyes. The prince's voice carried such sorrow, such agony, that she could feel her own heart aching as surely as if the pair were her own. _"And then something miraculous happened. Six months later, Kirin appeared at the gates of Erebor. He was covered in filth and blood, but he was alive, barely a mark on him. No one knew what to think of it. His mother was overjoyed, but when she asked him about his sister, he couldn't give her a straight answer. My brother tells me that Kirin was heard saying in his sleep, 'A life for a life. Death is given to one and taken from another. She broke the rules.' No one knows what to make of it. Do you?"_

Telumë shook her head. She truly had no idea what to think about any of this, but her heart went out to the Princess who had endured so much. She wondered about the son, Kirin, who had supposedly died but had appeared home less than a year later. How was that possible?

_"It tore him apart as well,"_ Legolas whispered. _"One of my sister's favorite stories to tell was about the first time Kirin met his little sister. He told her that he'd always be there to protect her. Speaking from experience, breaking such a promise, even accidentally, is enough to drive one almost mad with guilt. At least my sister came back; Kiyera disappeared."_

_"Does anyone know where she went?"_ Telumë asked. _"The villagers knew that she disappeared, so would they have spoken to her at all about her destination, if she was going anywhere?"_

_"They didn't know who my niece and nephew were; they only knew that a young man and woman, brother and sister, were travelling together when the village was attacked. The brother was killed protecting his sister. An old woman said that the girl was nearly mad with grief and stormed away, intent on finding the Valar and forcing them to bring her brother back. We can only assume that the siblings are the prince and princess. Kirin's story confirms it. But there is no way to know where Kiyera was headed or if she ever reached where she was going."_

_"How is their father doing?"_ Telumë asked cautiously. Legolas had mentioned the princess several times, but had never mentioned how the father was, whether he was as devastated as his wife. Didn't he love his children as well?

_ "Kili… he is stronger than I once gave him credit for. I have spoken to him; seen the pain he carries like a great weight. He conceals it as best he can, but… Kiyera was his little girl. He adored both her and her brother, loved them with all his heart. For them to vanish, and for his wife, the love of his life, to fall into such a state… it's taken its toll on him, though he does his best to conceal it. When we first met, nearly fifty years ago, he was not even of age. He was less than eighty years old. He didn't even have a full beard then. Now, however, his beard and hair are streaked with silver from worry. I know he's trying to be strong for Aeyera, but I know how much he's hurting. He misses his daughter so much, and he's holding out hope that she reappears somewhere."_

_"I hope she's found,"_ Telumë said softly, curling into a more comfortable ball. She hoped the little family would be put back together again soon. _"Where do you think she is?"_

The elf shrugged miserably. _"I have no earthly idea. The other Dúnedain are searching for her, but most do not know whom to look for. They don't even know if the one they're searching for is still alive."_

_ "What does she look like?"_ Telumë asked. She was a dragon after all; perhaps she could fly up—once her wing was healed, of course—and search for her; bring her back. Her eyesight was superb; she currently was staring into the sun with no issues at all, as she had on many other occasions. Surely she could see one girl.

_"She looks just like her mother."_ The prince smiled, and the sunlight lit up his eyes, turning them gold. _"Dark hair, bright green eyes, short, slight stature. She's a bit more muscular than her mother because of her dwarvish blood, but she carries herself well. She would appear as a young woman; her ears are more rounded than those of an elf. Have you seen anyone like her?"_

The dragon shook her head regretfully. She sighed, and steam rolled from her mouth. _"No, I am sorry. Besides the men that attacked me, I had no one before yourself and Aragorn chanced upon me. But I truly hope she is found soon, for all you sakes."_

Legolas nodded. _"Thank you."_

"Legolas."

The pair turned to see Aragorn standing behind him. The sun had risen, bathing the world in fresh, bright light, and the camp had been taken down. The ranger moved to stand beside Telumë and rested his hand upon her head.

"Tengrid wishes to reach your brother's halls by sundown the day after next, which means we must move with haste."

Legolas nodded and stood. It was comforting, speaking to the dragon, although he was not sure why. She seemed alike in spirit to his little sister, very protective. For a brief moment he wondered if she could continue to travel with them, but he dismissed it. Once her wing healed, she would be free to go wherever she wished. And once she grew too big, she would have to retreat to the edges of the maps or risk being slain by the other races that killed her kind. For a moment he considered asking his brother to let her stay in Mirkwood, but he dismissed it. Passing through the forest would be fine, but her living there would not be permitted either by his brother or himself. Too much darkness lurked beneath those trees, and there were too many opportunities for a fire to start, especially considering how little control the young dragoness had over her abilities.

The rangers departed from their camp, leaving no trace that they had been there. The men and elves moved with surprising speed and stealth, even though they were on foot. Telumë followed as best she could, inwardly cursing her large form as she was forced to pick her way around thickets and clumps of trees as opposed to going under or through them. What was one of the advantages to being a dragon, however, was her sense of smell. On the numerous occasions when the Dúnedain would fade from sight, she would simple follow their scents until she reached them once more.

It was curious tracking this way. She had been doing it her whole life—or as long as she could remember, anyway—and still found it fascinating. Each race smelled different from the others. Men generally smelled more like iron, forests, and hay—and also sweat—, while elves smelled of pine, rain, and grass. She wasn't sure what dwarves smelled like, and goodness knows what a Halfling even _was_. Each larger category had many more small categories. Each man smelt different. These men smelled more of the woods and of iron, and the elves here smelled more of rain. It was curious.

She sniffed her own forepaw out of curiosity as she made her way over a fallen tree. Fire. Blood. She recoiled, and another hint of a scent reached her nose, unlike any she had smelled before. Rain. Dank. Stone. Pine. It disappeared as soon as it came. She felt a flicker of a presence around her, a presence that reeked with madness, with insanity, with desperation. The dragoness halted, looking around her warily. The trees were thick here, making it nearly impossible to see. She could hear fine, and smell as well, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. All the same, something felt very, very wrong.

"Telumë."

Aragorn, having noticed her absence, had halted the rangers, allowing them a brief respite to eat before continuing. He had left to search for the young dragon and was startled to find her frozen in the middle of the woods nearly half a mile behind the others.

He moved to stand beside her and placed a hand on her shuddering flank. "What are you doing?"

"Something's wrong," she murmured, smoke rising from her nostrils. Nothing visible, nothing audible. Something had a scent that she did not recognize, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't find it again.

"What?"

She shook her head, angry. How could she protect them and pay her debt if she didn't know what she was protecting them from? As hard as she tried, neither the scent nor the presence made itself known to her again. "I don't know."


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter 9:

The next couple days were uneventful considering all the events that had occurred in that past weeks. No Grey Fells attacked, no bloodthirsty dragon hunters materialized in our path, and no insane presences reappeared either. Each night the rangers would set up camp and, after eating, they would spar. The elves would pair off with the men, to my surprise, except for a few men who would pair off with one another when there weren't enough elven partners. Apparently the elves, having centuries to perfect their skills instead of decades, were more skilled fighters than most men.

Telumë almost wished she were a human; the fighting seemed very interesting.

Every other night, Legolas and Aragorn would pair off with each other and spar on the edge of whatever clearing they had chosen to spend the night in. The two were brilliant warriors. Telumë would perch on the edge of the circle that had been carved out and would watch them with those brilliant green eyes, studying their techniques and footwork. Legolas had suggested trying to spar with her—using sticks or blunt weapons rather than sharp ones—, but the dragon had refused. She didn't want to hurt anyone by mistake.

The surroundings dampened the dragon's spirit to say the least. The trees grew very close together, allowing barely any light in. Although, as several of the wood-elves told her during their journey, the forest had changed very much in the fifty short years since the death of their previous king. Apparently while he reigned, giant spiders wandered the woods freely. The captain of the guard, Tauriel—Legolas stiffened when he heard her name—had tried to rid the woods of them but had been unable to because of Thranduil's selfish nature, at least until Maladernil became king. Now the spiders were gone and the giant webs taken down. At one point the group passed through a great green and gold clearing and the elves laughed and sang about Greenwood the Great and its return to its former glory. There were several spots similar to this, some more brilliant and some less, but all beautiful in their own ways. The majority of the trek, however, was spent in near darkness, and the damp and gloom weighed heavily on all their hearts.

After several days of travel, the Dúnedain and Telumë reached the edge of the heart of Mirkwood. Here the trees were thinner, the sunlight richer. Trees soared to the heavens, their white bark and bright leaves glowing in comparison to the eternal twilight they had left behind. The elves stayed close to Telumë, making it clear to any who might see her that she was of no danger. The dragoness, having seen the elves shoot in the dusk before the men slept, knew that there was no shielding herself from any arrows that might come her way. The elves trained from near birth with weapons, their favorite being the bow. If the elves decided she was a threat, there was no chance for her; elves were excellent shots.

_"Legolas! Where have you been?" _A dark haired elf wearing a white-gold crown and cloak of the same colour over a dark tunic, breeches, and boots emerged from the gates. His bright eyes glimmered in the light of the setting sun, and he spread his arms wide to the large group. He and Legolas embraced, both smiling, but the dragon could see the pain behind both their smiles.

_"I am as well as can be expected," _Legolas replied. Telumë cocked her head to one side. She could understand Legolas. He wasn't speaking Westron or her own language, so he must be speaking elvish. It made sense that she could understand him based on the connection she had inadvertently established, but why could she understand this elf as well. _"Brother, has there been any word of her?" _So the king was Legolas's brother. She should have known, based on the story she had heard a few mornings past. She just hadn't thought about it. But then why could she understand his brother?

The king's face fell. _"Nothing. Not so much as a whisper. But we will not give up hope. I am certain that word of her will come soon." _Legolas nodded somewhat doubtfully, but then thought of his own sister. Maladernil seemed to be thinking the same thing. _"Aeyera once disappeared for twenty years and then was found. The same could happen for Kiyera."_

_ "Eru, I hope not," _Legolas snapped, paling considerably. _"Our sister was tortured for every second she was in that place, or have you forgotten?"_

The king's face could have been carved out of stone. His green eyes flashed angrily. _"I will never forget. I promised her the same thing you did, Legolas. We both failed her, more than once."_

Legolas's shoulders slumped, and the two brothers stood in silence for a few moments before pulling back. The king looked out over the other Dúnedain, a slight smile returning to his face. _"My friends—" _he scanned the group of mixed elves and men before his eyes alighted on a most unusual sight. Aragorn, who, according to his sister, would someday become a great king, stood directly beside a small, white dragon. Its head was about even with the young prince's, and it stretched out nearly ten feet from its chest to tip of its tail. It was pure white and had bright, bright green eyes that stared intently into his. He froze, staring back at it.

_"Legolas?"_

His brother glanced over at the king and then to Telumë, suddenly understanding. He had grown so used to her that seeing a dragon standing in the midst of a crowd did not bother him in the slightest, though it was clear that it bothered the king.

Telumë watched him carefully, waiting to see what he did. He hadn't ordered anyone to shoot her, which was better than what could be said about what most others would have done. Her race—dragons—were, besides orcs and goblins, the most hated of all other races. The elves seemed the most likely to question before attacking.

_"Maladernil, this is Telumë. We found her up above Mirkwood. A group of men attacked her before we found her and tracked her. They attacked again right after we found her and injured her wing. They cut fully through the bone, but she… she killed the man who did it. It turns out that the men who attacked her had been carving a path through the woodsmen's villages. Brother… whole villages were slaughtered. Women, children… everyone, Maladernil."_

The king had turned away from his brother and now turned back, his hands white and shaking. The woodsmen were under his protection, and for this to have gone unnoticed for so long… _"Send out a patrol," _he called to one of the guards. _"Find these men!"_

"You can't."

Every head turned to Telumë, every pair of eyes focused on her. The guard froze, and Maladernil frowned. "And why ever not?"

The dragon ducked her head, her glowing green eyes staring at the ground. She wasn't sure how she felt about killing those men. They were murderers. They killed children for sport. And yet… she had taken their lives without a second thought. "Because they're dead. I killed them. Well, some of them."

"Why?" The king watched her closely. He had seen several dragons in his time; Smaug wasn't nearly as terrible as the others. This one, however… seemed _kind_. She certainly seemed remorseful.

"They deserved it," she answered automatically. The king frowned, but she didn't retract her statement. "I didn't know why, but I do now. They were murderers. They killed children."

Maladernil nodded. He understood, but at the same time he wondered… was she safe? The Dúnedain certainly seemed to trust her, and none of them were fools. "Are they all gone?"

Aragorn answered. He could sense the king's uncertainty regarding the dragon. "We do not know. Telumë saved our lives, Your Highness, but a few men escaped. She saved your brother, Maladernil."

The king nodded, pursing his lips. Legolas watched his brother carefully. He did not seem pleased with the news that some of the men had escaped, but he also seemed more comfortable with the idea of Telumë. The king crossed over to the dragon and placed a hand on her snout. She stared into his eyes calmly, her own wide and innocent. "Thank you for saving my brother's life," he told her softly. She nodded once, blinking slowly in response. Her bright green eyes glowed in the dusk. He turned back to the others. "Rooms have been prepared for you. Come in and rest, please."

Maladernil and Legolas led the rest of the Dúnedain forward towards the Elvenking's halls, and Telumë walked directly behind them. The king seemed to want others to know that she was not a threat, thus putting her directly behind him. She was able to listen to the brothers' conversation as they walked, and the topic interested her immensely.

"There is something I must speak to you about," the elder said softly.

Legolas glanced over at his brother, brow furrowed. It was rare that his brother spoke with such intensity, such worry. "What is it?"

"Aeyera. Our father. I have long wondered why it was that he treated her the way he did. You remember our own childhoods, do you not?"

"I remember mine," Legolas replied. "I was happy, as were you, and Father and Mother loved each other and us very much."

"What changed, then?" Maladernil wondered aloud. Legolas knew that his brother already knew the answer. "Several hundred years later, a daughter is born. Do you remember that day, little brother? I do. Our father was not overjoyed like he had been on the day of your birth; I remember yours very well. No, he was distant. He loved our mother still, but he never wanted Aeyera. I saw how he treated her as a child, never giving her any grace for her mistakes as he did ours. After our mother died, he grew to hate her."

"I remember," Legolas murmured, his heard aching at the reminder of his mother's death. He wished he had done more to save her.

"Do you remember when he banished me, brother?" Maladernil asked sharply. "I long wondered about why he would do such a thing. I often would question his authority, but I had always done so. Indeed, when I was young, he would encourage me to do so in order that I might one day be a wise king. But he banished me for it. He then banished our sister."

"But he did not do so until twenty years after her disappearance," Legolas broke in softly, remembering. He had tried to search for her, but his father would never allow him out of the kingdom. It was only after what Legolas now knew to be the time his sister was imprisoned in Dol Guldur that his father had declared her an exile.

"Yes. I have had time to explore this place since my coronation," Maladernil told Legolas. Several elves drew near to the group, eyeing the dragon with distrust. The king paused in his conversation. "This dragoness is under my protection," he told the elves, not unkindly. "Please show the Dúnedain to the chambers that have been prepared for them, and do not harm the dragon. Any who attempt to do so will answer to me."

The elves nodded and led the rangers away, all except Aragorn, who at Legolas's request remained with the brothers and Telumë.

When the king was sure that none were within earshot, he continued. "I found something within our father's chambers." The king led the other three into a large, empty room and shut the doors. "A palantír."

Legolas blinked, stunned. "What?"

"Thranduil was in possession of a palantír," Maladernil explained, growing urgent. He had discovered it only a year after his coronation. He knew what magical objects of this sort could do; they could twist the mind. He believed it to be the cause of Thranduil's hatred for his sister. "I found it some years ago and took it to the wizard Saruman. He told me that our father had been in contact with the Necromancer in Dol Guldur for some time. Apparently he had been using it to keep watch on our borders and had stumbled upon this darkness, which had taken hold of him."

"You gave it to the wizard?" Legolas asked, stunned. "If such a weapon were to be given into the wrong hands, then—"

The king held up a hand to silence the prince. "I watched him destroy it," he said sharply. "I am not so foolish as to allow a weapon like that to remain within my halls."

Telumë looked back and forth between the two brothers uneasily. Tension crackled between them. She did not know who this Saruman was, and she wondered how powerful he was. Maladernil seemed to trust him—he had entrusted him with an apparently very powerful and destructive weapon—but then, he didn't seem to think about his decisions for very long. After all, he had allowed a dragoness into his kingdom with hardly any consideration at all.

Legolas shook his head and let out a breath, seemingly trying to calm himself down. "You think that Father's use of the palantír turned him against our sister?" Legolas asked. "And against you?"

The king nodded. "I do. It is the only thing that makes sense. Think of it; our father always cared for us as children. Always took care of us and of Mother. But suddenly, he grows wary, angry, reckless, focusing only on protecting his own borders and hoarding as much treasure as possible, caring nothing for his family. He exiles his heir and his daughter. He _knew _when she escaped from that accursed place, Legolas. He only exiled her once he knew she would try to return home. He tortured her for information. He struck you. He fled in the midst of battle. He was willing to kill his daughter as well as a fellow king and his family. You knew Father as well as I. Does this sound like the man we knew for centuries growing up?"

Legolas shook his head. Maladernil was right. He had wondered for centuries what had changed about his father in the years before his death. For a long time he had assumed that it had something to do with the grief of losing his wife, and that he had blamed Aeyera for her death. But that didn't really make sense, Legolas realized, because he himself had been present as well. He should have been held responsible, not an elfling of six years. But all the same, it was Aeyera who was blamed, not Legolas. But why? Why would the Necromancer cause him to target the young princess?

The king sighed and pressed a hand to his temple. At that moment, he felt his age, something that had once been rare but now was quite common. He often prayed that he had made the right decision in giving the Palantír to Saruman. He did not doubt that the wizard had good intentions, but he wondered if he himself could have used the stone. He wondered if he could have used it to locate his missing niece. Maladernil quickly shook the thought from his mind. It had been decades since he had had the stone destroyed, and he knew that his sister would never forgive him if he used the stone and was harmed by it.

After nearly a minute, the king looked up. The white dragon was watching him intently as if she knew his thoughts, and he shifted slightly. The look she gave him was disconcerting and disapproving, and he wondered if she had guessed his doubts. He couldn't believe he had allowed a dragon into his kingdom. She seemed harmless, for now, but who knew what would happen if she grew agitated or threatened.

Telumë continued to watch the elf king carefully. Indeed, she could sense his doubts. She could not see his thoughts as she could sometimes see those of Legolas, but she could sense his misgivings about allowing her into his palace. She couldn't blame him. She knew the stories of her kin, despite not having ever met any—at least that she could remember. The king stared back for a moment before breaking the silence that had fallen like a stifling blanket over the room.

"Come," he said tiredly, beckoning them from the empty room and back into the hall. Their private conversation was now over. "You have had a long journey; tonight you will rest. Tomorrow we feast in honor of the return of the prince." He gave his younger brother a small smile. "And we welcome the Dúnedain as well." Aragorn inclined his head.

The princes were led to their rooms, and Telumë was escorted to the balcony outside of Legolas's. He had asked that she not be sent away (for hers and others' protection) and had her stay near him instead. She slept little, and the sleep she did have was strewn with muddled flashes and visions.

The following afternoon, Maladernil fetched the trio from their rooms, and they followed the king into the great hall. Very few elves were there, but a great table had been set up. Maladernil was seated at the head with Legolas on his right and Aragorn at his left. Telumë settled herself behind the elf prince and watched the elves move about with beautiful grace. The rest of the Dúnedain entered the room and took their seats, talking and laughing softly as they ate. Telumë was not hungry; she had eaten a deer the previous day and had no need to eat anything else. She noted with annoyance that many of the elves skirted around her without looking her in the eye, and she caught their whispers and glances as they glided in and out of the room.

She turned her attention to the trio at the head of the table. Legolas and Maladernil were reminiscing about old times when Mirkwood was known as Greenwood the Great, and Aragorn listened, enraptured by their tales. Telumë listened as well, curious. She recalled the bright patches amidst the dusky eaves she had discovered, and tried to picture a place where all the woods were like those small clearings: bright and green and beautiful, untouched by the darkness that haunts the world.  
Soon, as wine was passed around and the atmosphere grew warm and homely, Maladernil began recounting the tale of Beren and Lúthien, of the mortal man and immortal elf who fell in love with each other. The king spoke of how the elf princess's father was horrified that she wished to wed a mortal and that he had Beren go and cut a Silmaril from the crown of Morgoth. Beren was captured, and Lúthien, knowing in her heart that he was shrouded in darkness, set out to find him. Find him she did, and she and her beloved acquired the Silmaril, but—

The king's story was cut short as the doors of the great hall burst open and a tall, silver haired elf flew into the room. His fair skin was as white as snow, and droplets of sweat gleamed on his face. The king stood, concerned, and the eyes of everyone in the room were drawn to the scout, who was bent over, panting. Whispers filled the room as elves and men alike turned to each other, brows furrowed. Telumë watched the elf, confused. She had never seen an elf that was tired; she assumed they all had boundless energy. Apparently she had been wrong.

The king strode over to the other elf until he stood directly before him. Telumë hadn't realized how tall he was; he stood at least a head taller than the other elf. "What is the matter?" Maladernil asked, his rich voice carrying through the room. He spoke in the common tongue so that all there might understand; apparently secrets were unheard of here.

The young elf caught his breath and knelt before his king. His body shook from exertion. "My lord, I have received word from our scouts in Anorien. Sire, they had me send for you at once. It is of greatest importance—"

Telumë watched the scout, concerned. He was stammering, shaking, and his eyes were wide. She had once seen a horse with the same expression. She had stumbled upon it some weeks before being attacked; she, being curious, had followed it. It had galloped like mad, struggling to flee from her. Its eyes had rolled back, its ears flattened against its skull, and foam had flecked its flanks. The elf wore the same panicked expression the horse had.

"Sire, they found her."


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter 10:

Every being in the room stiffened. All sound ceased as elf and man alike stared wordlessly at the young messenger. The stillness, although it seemed to last for hours, lasted only for a moment before the sound of metal smacking against stone rang through the room. Legolas was on his feet, striding towards his brother and the young elf beside him. He had knocked his goblet off the table in his haste to stand, and its contents had spilled and stained the floor red. He moved until he was directly beside his brother, and the king threw out his arm, hitting the prince across the chest in order to hold him back.  
"Whom do you speak of?" Legolas asked through gritted teeth. His mind had blanked. He was uncharacteristically angry, and he wondered if this scout was lying or if he was speaking of the missing princess.

The scout trembled under the prince's smoldering glare. "The daughter of Princess Aeyera, Kiyera of Erebor, she has been found. At least, that is what I was told."

"Rise," Maladernil hastily commanded, noting that the scout remained on his knees. As he scrambled to his feet, the king noticed the travel stains upon his clothing. "Amron, from where do you come?"

"The Field of Celebrant, my Lord," Amron answered hastily. Color had begun to fill his cheeks once more. Maladernil nodded. The Fields were several days' ride from the heart of Mirkwood, if one was not galloping at full speed, and Anorien was half a fortnight more to the south, very near to Mordor.

"And who delivered this news to you?" Maladernil asked. Legolas stood, fists clenched, staring between the elf and his brother. If his niece had been found, then they could waste no time here; they must go at once.

"Tauriel, my Liege," Amron replied. Legolas stiffened a second time, and Gwenithil's eyes darted to rest upon the prince. Telumë noticed this and eyed the prince carefully. "She would have come here herself, but she had been riding for nearly a fortnight to reach us and could barely stand. I came in her stead."

Maladernil nodded. "You have done well." He glanced around the room as if realizing for the first time where he was. He beckoned to his brother, and Telumë followed after the prince as he left the room. None dared stop her, and they moved into the same empty room she had seen the day before. She, the brothers, and Amron were all who remained there. "Now tell me exactly what she told you."

Amron did. He was exhausted and in some state of shock, but he managed to tell the king all that he knew. The scouts in Anorien had seen a small, dark haired figure and gone to see what it was. They had discovered a young, green-eyed figure with slightly pointed ears. She had been frightened and had not spoken a word to anyone. Her clothes were torn and bloody, her bones visible through her skin. Tauriel, who had visited Erebor often in past years, had seen the girl and had recognized her immediately. She left her soldiers with orders to protect the girl with their lives and had departed at once for the nearest outpost; a fortnight's ride away.

By the end of his story, Legolas was leaning upon Telumë for support, and Maladernil was standing motionless in the center of the room.

"She's alive," Legolas whispered. Telumë could feel him shaking against her. His skin had gone stark white, and the sweat on his forehead shone in the torchlight. "Maladernil, she's alive."

The king nodded dumbly. Amron stood between the brothers, looking back and forth between the two of them. Maladernil stared straight ahead and ended up staring straight into Telumë's eyes. She held his gaze with her own, watching a flicker of recognition bloom within his gaze. After a moment, the king shook off the daze that had gripped him and turned away from the young dragoness.

He clapped his hand on the messenger's shoulder. "Thank you, Amron. Go now and rest, you have earned it. But first, go to the stables and tell them to prepare three horses. Quickly."

The elf nodded and flew from the room. "Legolas, come. Gather your things and have Aragorn do the same."

The prince blinked and shook his head a bit. A feeling of dread had swept over him, although he couldn't understand why. He should be overjoyed, but he wasn't. He was terrified.

Maladernil turned to Telumë. Her wing still was wrapped in bandages, but according to his brother, she had been injured weeks ago. Hopefully with a bit of help, she would be able to fly soon. "Telumë, come with me."

The trio parted ways, and Maladernil led Telumë to another part of the palace where a dark haired healer waited. Maladernil glanced at her. _"Heal her wing, please,"_ he commanded. _"We leave in minutes."_ She immediately crossed to the dragoness and began murmuring words in a nearly forgotten tongue. _"Catch up to us," _Maladernil told Telumë. He then left, leaving her to the healer.

The dragon settled down, fighting to ignore the tingling pain in her wing as the she-elf unwrapped the wound. The elf's hands hovered above her wing, not touching it, and then took hold of a wet plant and pressed it to the injury. Her voice lifted, and Telumë growled, gritting her teeth together. The healer never faltered in her chant, and within half an hour, she withdrew her hands. Her appearance was haggard and drained, but her lips turned up into a smile at the sight of the little dragon stretching her wings and flapping them happily.

Telumë turned round in joy, a dragonish grin spreading across her scaly face. Her wing was healed. "Thank you," she told the healer, moving towards the balcony. The she-elf nodded her head and watched in amazement as the dragon bounded off the railing and soared upward into the great black expanse above the earth.

Telumë strained her wings to beat harder and faster, propelling herself forward, higher and higher. The stars grew brighter and closer as the air grew colder, and she reveled in it. This marvelous feeling of freedom, of flying—nothing compared to it. She opened wide her maw and released a piercing shriek that echoed across the earth below.

Men, dwarves, and elves alike craned their necks to stare into the sky as a dragon's shriek pierced the stillness of the night, but were unable to spot anything out of the ordinary. All the same, they gathered their children and spouses closer, keeping one eye on the stars. At the kingdom of Erebor, the smithies were awakened, and before dawn the forges were lit and weapons were being forged in defense of the mountain.

Telumë knew none of this. She hurtled towards the stars, light shining in her eyes. She never wanted to come down. Finally, when she had flown so high that she could see much of Mirkwood spread out below her, she began to glide, moving in a slow circle. The thin membrane of her wings held her aloft, full of air, and the wind pushed her still higher. A lake shimmered under the stars, spread out like a blanket to her left, and a mountain gleamed at its northernmost tip. She hung suspended in the dark, staring down at the earth, and marveled that something so fragile such as wings could keep her aloft. Her legs and tail hung down, reaching down towards the earth. Her gaze followed them, and she caught sight of little lights shining in the woods below her, heading away from the palace at a rapid pace. Legolas.

She had to go; she had to follow him, and as much as she loathed to leave the sky, she also looked forward to testing the limits of her newly healed wing. With one last longing glance at the stars, she pulled her wings in close to her body, allowing herself to drop like a stone. She angled herself downward, and within moments she was speeding towards the earth like an arrow. The wind whistled by her, and thick protective lenses covered her eyes. Her legs and tail seemed grafted to her sides. Every second she fell faster, and she let lose another shriek as she plummeted towards the ground.

It was not until she was dangerously close to the treetops did she pull out of her dive. She let out one final scream of victory and threw her wings out. They unfurled rapidly, filling with air, and she swooped upwards, soaring in a loop before settling in the treetops. She panted, flanks heaving, but a wide, toothy grin stretched across her face. She craned her neck down, peering through the eaves at the elves and man riding beneath her. Because of the thickness of the branches, she was unable to reach her companions, and so she took to the air again, flying after them.

It was not until the following morning that the three mortals reached the edge of the forest. Telumë soared above them, keeping a watchful eye on the plains surrounding them. A river flowed several leagues away, but nothing notable was seen. She swooped down and landed beside the others, eyeing the nervous horses irritably as they shied away from her, eyes rolling.

Legolas nodded absently, staring into the south. "It is good to see you, Telumë."

"How far away is she?" The dragoness asked. Perhaps if she flew ahead she could reach the girl and bring her to the others.

"Just under fortnight's ride," Maladernil said softly.

"We are wasting time," Legolas snapped, urging his mount forward.

Telumë moved to intercept him, her expression stony. She sensed something off about him, something she couldn't quite explain. "Legolas—"

"Move aside," the elf growled. Telumë eyed the prince warily. She knew how torn up he was over the disappearance of his niece, but he also knew he was being irrational about it all. He had looked ready to strangle the guard the night before, he had left without her, and now he was leaving his brother's kingdom without a ruler for what Telumë knew would amount to nearly a month.

_"Legolas," _Telumë spoke in her own tongue, her voice a jarring growl that each member of the company could feel within their chests. _"Calm yourself. You are not in your right mind."_

The elf glared at the dragon but said nothing and pushed onward, riding around her. "We're wasting time," he called back over his shoulder. The others looked at each other helplessly.

"What of you?" the dragoness inquired of the king. "Why are you not flying towards Anorien with all the haste you can muster?"

The elf shifted on his mount, his fair brow creased. It was a moment before he responded. "I want to see my niece safe more than anything, but a feeling of unease grows within me," he confessed. The dragon and ranger watched him carefully. "It began the moment you stepped foot within my halls, Telumë, and it grows stronger with each passing moment."

The dragon in question blinked and straightened, ruffling her wings. "I do not understand."

The Elvenking shook his head. "Neither do I. I do not think you are the cause of it, however. My brother was with you when you entered the kingdom, and he is acting unlike himself. Perhaps he is the source of my unease."

Legolas was already half a mile away. The trio followed, the mortals on horseback and the dragon in the air. They rode for days, only stopping to allow the horses to rest and be watered. The night before they reached the Fields of Celebrant, they were forced to halt. Telumë had flown for two days and nights without rest, and the strain on her newly healed wing had caused it to buckle. She had nearly fallen out of the sky, and so the trio had grudgingly decided to rest for the night.

The area surrounding the Fields was flat and covered with grass. From the air, Telumë had seen several creeks and ponds but no large bodies of water, and no people, human or otherwise. Keeping this in mind, they built a small fire in one of the hollows. Night fell, and soon all manner of bugs were singing in the grass. Maladernil tended to Telumë's wing while Aragorn stoked the fire, and all eyes continuously glanced over at the prince who paced just outside the firelight.

"He is worried," the dragoness commented softly. Tension radiated off him, and the dragon couldn't help but wonder if he was above leaving in the middle of the night.

"We all are," Maladernil replied, running his hands over her wing and checking for tears or breaks in the membrane or bone. "But Legolas, I think, feels worse about this whole situation. He feels that it was his fault that Aeyera went missing in the first place, for one. For another, he was supposed to meet Kiyera and Kirin at the border of the Greenwood to escort them to Lothlórien. When they never arrived, he went looking for them, and he found the village, but… he still considers it his fault, even though there was nothing he could have done."

"There was much I could have done."

Telumë turned her head to watch the prince. She had forgotten his good hearing, as he must have forgotten about hers, and her heart grew heavy. He stared forlornly towards the southern horizon, fists clenched at his sides, and his body swayed slightly.

Maladernil shook his head but said nothing. Anything he said to comfort or scold his younger brother would only spark his anger and frustration, and so he stayed silent. In truth, Maladernil, although he knew his brother could not have done anything, blamed his brother slightly for the disappearance of his sister as well as her children. His brother had been the only one present, and it often was easier to blame another than to blame oneself.

Aragorn lay back on the grass by the fire, his arms crossed behind his head. The sky was alight with stars, and their light gave the camp a soft glow. He wanted to say something to his friend, to comfort him, but he didn't know how. On nights like these, he found himself dreaming of the Lady Arwen, who was even more beautiful than Lúthien of old. He sighed and stared up at the stars, longing to see her again. It had been many years since he had seen her face, and he had served the kings of Rohan and Gondor since he had last gazed upon her beauty.

"What will happen when you find her?" Telumë asked. Three pairs off eyes were drawn to her, each man broken out of his trance. "The lady Kiyera."

"We will bring her home," Maladernil answered, watching as the dragoness twisted her neck around to meet his eyes. "She has been away far too long."

"And… and what if it is not her?" The question had been nagging at her for quite a while. Something didn't seem right about the girl's appearance. If she every recovered her memory, she would most certainly wish to return home, wherever it was, especially if she had a family. She had gone to great lengths to preserve the lives of her companions, always worrying about them. Shouldn't the Lady have come with Tauriel to see her family once more? Or at least asked about the wellbeing of her brother and parents? She didn't dare voice these thoughts aloud, however, for Legolas had stalked towards the fire, a furious expression on his face. He began to speak, practically spitting his answer, but she ignored him, knowing his words would anger her. As she did, she understood something. He needed this. He needed this girl to be his sister like she needed air to breath. He was clutching at this piece of information like a drowning man would clutch at a piece of straw, and to see her friend in such a state made her heard ache. He finished speaking, his bright eyes appearing almost dull, and turned away before heading outside the firelight. Both Aragorn and Maladernil wore pained expressions, and Aragorn rolled over onto his side, facing away from the fire, and fell asleep.

Telumë sighed, and several sparks flew from her nostrils. Maladernil glanced down at her, slight amusement in his gaze. He knew the dragoness hadn't been listening—just as well, since he had insulted her at least once—but needed her to hear his own opinion on the matter. "He needs it to be her," he whispered.

The dragon nodded her great head. "I gathered that," she murmured.

"And yet you were not listening to a word my brother said," the king accused lightly. He laughed softly as her eyes darted back to rest upon him. "I do not blame you. But know that he needs this. He needs it to be her, and so do I. I need this to be my sister."

"And if it's not?" Telumë pressed. Had none of them thought of the possibility that it was the wrong girl? All of them seemed intent on avoiding the question; that was for certain.

"Then we keep looking," he breathed, suddenly looking very old and very tired. "But I believe that it is her. Tauriel confirmed it, and if she remains with the patrol, then she can report to me on the morrow. Until then, we must pray that it is her, and that she will be safe."

Telumë wasn't sure, but she thought she heard an unspoken phrase circle around the camp as surely as if all the members had whispered it aloud. _ Unlike Aeyera: unlike her mother. _Telumë knew the story. She knew the princess had disappeared for twenty years, being tortured for every moment of all of them. She knew the torment had extended for centuries after, darkness plaguing her mind. She knew that everyone here fears for the girl and prayed to the Valar that she had been spared such a fate.

Telumë moved until the tall grass covered her almost completely. Her wing was fine, apparently; it only needed a bit of rest. Maladernil moved to lean against the dragon's side and remained there, staring into the fire. Legolas's silhouette guarded the border of the camp. Finally, Telumë drifted off into a troubled sleep, and within moments a dream as real as any she had ever felt took hold of her mind.

**Sorry for the long wait; the reviews didn't come in as quickly as I thought they would (But thank you to everyone who reviewed! Remember, it generally takes at least 3 reviews for me to update!), and I had a bit of writers block on this last chapter. I fixed it! Plus, college applications have to get done, so… yeah. I'm not doing this for popularity (as some people seem to think) but rather because they encourage me and keep me going. When I don't get reviews, I often feel like no one appreciates my writing, so I don't write :/ sad truth. Anyway, I'm glad I get enough reviews to update again! (currently at 24 reviews, by the way)**


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter 11:

_Telumë made her way around a lovely stone city. Once more she was trapped in the girl's memory, and she lived the past as if it were her own. The sun was descending, and fat golden beams of light spilled through the branches that shaded the path the two walked upon. A warm breeze rustled the leaves._

_ However, she didn't feel it. She was lost in thought, and a shadow covered her face. Her arm was in a sling, her shoulder wrapped in bandages. It had only been a couple days since she had been found and brought here by the rangers, and technically she had not been cleared to so much as step out of bed. But she was restless and worried, and so she had gotten out of bed and changed into her clothes, which were clean, thank goodness. She now was wandering aimlessly around Imladris, hoping not to encounter anyone who might recognize her._

_ A dark haired elf with light, intelligent eyes appeared around the corner. He smiled grimly when he saw her, and she stiffened, inwardly cursing. _

_ "Lord Elrond," she greeted, bowing her head._

_ He inclined his head as well, a slight smile resting upon his lips. "I am glad to see that you have gained some of your strength back," he commented lightly. His eyes, though kind, were also shrewd, and the girl had a feeling that he was testing her for information about who she was. "That was quite a nasty wound you received." She nodded. "You were indeed fortunate that the rangers found you when they did."_

_ "I count myself very fortunate indeed," she replied softly. She caught sight of a stone archway some ways away, which led to a path leading away from the city. Her heart leapt. This was the real reason she had left her room, the reason she had stolen stores from one of the rooms she had passed as she wandered around. She had to leave while she was near the gate; she knew she might never find the exit to the city again if she left—she was rubbish at directions, and she had no desire to ask for them._

_ "Why do you carry your pack and weapons?" the elf lord asked._

_ Panic bloomed in her stomach, but she swallowed her fear and lied easily, fighting to keep her voice steady. "I was worried they might be taken," she explained apologetically. Actually, she wasn't lying—she knew if anyone discovered her true purpose, they would never allow her to leave the city. Her grip on the strap tightened. "I wanted to keep them safe."_

_ He nodded as if in understanding, but she knew he was growing suspicious. "I see."_

_ "My lord Elrond!" A tall elf ran forward and came to a stop a few meters away, running his hands over his robes in a valiant effort to straighten them. "A messenger from King Maladernil has arrived at the gate, and she says that another from the Princess Aeyera is not far behind."_

_ Elrond's face became grave, and he followed after the elf, his robes billowing up around him. He didn't even look behind him. Telumë stood, rooted to the spot. Dozens of emotions swirled within her, panic foremost amongst them. Reality caught up with her in moments. She had to leave._

_ With one last look around her, she darted forward, sprinting for the gate. Because of the late hour, most of the elves were preparing to sup, and so she was met with no resistance. She panted, running along the path. Once or twice she slipped, her foot falling over the edge of the cliff, and her stomach would drop to her toes. But she always pulled herself back up and kept going. At the top of the ridge, a blessing for the Valar appeared. Several horses were picketed next to the path. All were elven, and had large, liquid eyes that stared at her curiously as she approached. She felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of stealing one of the creatures, but before she could, a pleasant voice spoke up from behind her._

_ "Leaving already?"_

_ The voice belonged to a male standing only a few feet away. He was taller than her by a good bit and had long, dark hair. Telumë thought he might be a man, but he had pointed ears. He couldn't be an elf, however, because he was very muscular and not nearly as fair as the elves were. His eyes were bright green. No, that wasn't right, they were gold—and now they were blue. Telumë stared, hypnotized for a moment, and then broke free from her trance. _

_ "I—yes. Yes, I am."_

_ "Do you need a horse, then?" he asked, reaching over and stroking the muzzle of a white mare beside him. "How far away is your destination?"_

_ "I don't know." She frowned and struggled to remember everything she could about the Valar. Short of travelling to the Undying Lands, she had no idea how to reach them, but perhaps this stranger would. She asked him about the Valar and the places in Middle Earth closest to them._

_ He frowned, thoughtful. "There are a few places close to their hearts," he mused, "besides, of course, the Undying Lands." He glanced at her ears. "Only elves have gone there, with a handful of exceptions."_

_ "I know. Besides there."_

_ "Well," he rubbed his chin, scratching the whiskers there. His eyes turned black for a moment, then changed to silver. "There are the Lamps of the Valar in Illuin and Ormal, but they stand outside the realm of Middle Earth."_

_ Telumë's mind began whirling. Outside of Middle Earth? It could take her years to reach either place, and if one ended up one working… she could be dead before she reached the either of them, and what good would that do her brother then?_

_ "There are others," the man said softly, glancing down to meet her gaze._

_ Her heart leapt. "Where?"_

_ "The lake of Almaren, the first kingdom of the Valar."_

_ Her heart sank. She knew of Almaren, yes, but she also knew of its fall. "Almaren was destroyed ages ago by Melkor," she said. "Nothing remains there! Even if it did, it is in the midst of a lake as large as a sea. There would be no way for me to reach it."_

_ He raised his eyebrows and continued. "You asked for possibilities, young one, not probabilities. I had no idea you wished to visit." She clamped her mouth shut, heat rising in her cheeks. "Valinor was the second kingdom of the Valar, but it rests halfway between the Undying Lands and Middle Earth. I doubt you could reach it."_

_ The girl was losing patience. It was at this point Telumë became aware of her own conscience once more, and she heard the girl speak from her own mouth instead of a shared one. "But what of Mandos? I wish to speak with him, where can I find him?"_

_ The being stared at her with something akin to awe, although Telumë thought he might just be in awe of the girl's foolishness. He shook his head, something akin to amusement in his voice and crimson gaze. "No, young one. It would be suicide to try and find him."_

_ The girl clenched her fist and her teeth as her heart beat faster. She had not travelled all this way for nothing. "He took my brother from me. I want him back."_

_ "Death takes the lives of all," he replied, "whether they be animal, man, or dwarf. Even the elves have felt its sting. Why should you be any different?"_

_ Telumë thought he had a fair point, but the girl wouldn't hear it. "I have lost everything!" her voice was lifting, growing shriller. Telumë knew that the girl had not, in fact, lost everything; she still had family and friends who loved her and were waiting for her at home. "I have to bring him back!"_

_ The being, much to the alarm of both Telumë and the girl, was suddenly an inch from their face (they did still, at this point, share a body, although Telumë could feel herself becoming less connected with each passing second). His eyes had changed once more, this time to the dark, dead grey of a tomb, and this color they stayed._

_ "Mandos is unyielding and unmoved by pity," he said in a low, dangerous voice. "For he knows the fates of all who were declared in the Music so many ages ago. Even if you were to find him, you would only be wasting your time. Your brother is dead. Return to your family, little Princess. Go home." He stepped away and turned his back on the girl. _

_ Telumë's mind was swirling. Little Princess?_

_ "Where can I find him?" the girl's voice was a whisper._

_ He whirled around. Telumë wasn't sure what he was; she had the feeling that he was not one of those created by the Valar, in any case. He seemed much older, much wiser, and much more dangerous. He studied her with those dead eyes, and Telumë felt a thrill of fear rush through her. "He resides always within his Halls," he answered._

_ "Where are his Halls?"_

_ "On the Western edge of the Undying Lands. The only way for you to get there is to die."_

Telumë awoke with a start, shaking. This dream, memory, vision, whichever, was more rattling than any before. She could still see the figure's furious, dead eyes glaring back at her.

It was not yet dawn, although the eastern horizon was lightening rapidly. Aragorn was stirring, rolling over onto his back. The horses had awoken and were tearing up chunks of grass with their teeth. Telumë noticed with annoyance that the still continued eyeing her as if she were about to pounce on them and begin tearing them apart.

She sniffed. Not likely.

Legolas was awake and standing in the same position he had been in when Telumë had fallen asleep. His back was to the camp, his arms crossed over his chest. Telumë was reminded of the girl in her dreams, and her insatiable need to find her brother and bring him home, even though it meant bringing him back from the dead. Telumë realized very suddenly that the girl and the elf before her were very similar, both driven by the need to bring their lost family members home. A thought bloomed within the dragon's mind. Could it be?

Maladernil was awake as well. He nudged her side gently, breaking her out of her thoughts. "Are you alright, Telumë?" she nodded her large head, and he eyes her doubtfully. "You're shaking." And so she was.

She stood, causing the king to nearly fall backwards, and moved around in a circle around the fire. She was quite sore, and she told him so, not bothering to mention her dream. She stopped in front of Legolas, staring into his eyes. He stared through her, eyes unfocused. She released a hot puff of air from her nostrils, which blew his hair back, and he blinked. As soon as he focused on her, he scowled and turned away. She released another sharp breath, this time allowing a mess of sparks to join it. The other two companions noticed and eyed her warily. Legolas sent a sharp glare over his shoulder at her, and she bared her teeth at him in response.

"Let's go," Legolas barked, staring at the horizon. The sun hadn't yet peeked over the edge of the earth, but it soon would, and Legolas wanted to be well on his way by the time it did.

"We have to put out the fire," Aragorn muttered, halfheartedly tossing dirt onto the flames. In truth, he was still cold and stiff from sleep and wanted to wait a moment to warm up. The temperature had dropped drastically during the night, and frost coated the ground.

Legolas looked about ready to jump up and down on the fire in frustration. "Do it faster," he snapped.

Telumë, tired of the childish bickering, stormed over to the little group. They moved out of her way quickly, and Maladernil watched in amusement as she stomped on the fire, putting it out in a moment. Indeed, she seemed to absorb the heat and flames into her scales, for when she moved away, the ashes were stone cold and her claws glowed like molten steel. She moved to stand beside Aragorn, and a slight smile grew on his face when he felt the intense heat rolling off her in waves, thawing his sore muscles and frozen skin.

Telumë eyed Legolas haughtily. He stared at her, unmoving, and she noticed a vein pulsing in his forehead. She knew she shouldn't feel so smug; she had felt the girl's emotions and knew that Legolas probably was feeling similar levels of anxiety and panic, but she still did not approve of the way he was acting towards both her and the rest of his companions. Without waiting for a response, she took to the air, pushing herself off the ground with pulsing wings and flattening all the grass in a ten-meter radius. In seconds, she was flying fifty feet above the heads of her companions, and she watched as they mounted their horses and sped away. She soared overhead, over flying in slow, looping circles to keep from getting too far ahead of the others. They travelled all day, reaching the camp at sunset, and Telumë spent al day thinking about her dream. By now, she was almost positive that they were memories of some sort, or visions. She wondered if she had the same connection with the girl that she had with Legolas; it would make sense, if she could see inside her mind.

She couldn't believe how foolish the girl was, hunting down a Vala. If she did survive the journey, she would most likely die from angering the Vala who, as the being in her dream had said, was unbending and uncompromising. She wondered suddenly if the being was one of the Vala, or perhaps Mandos himself. She shuddered and fell several feet out of the sky. His eyes had frightened her, left her shaken, even though it was only a memory. They had held such anger, such despondency… she had felt herself sinking into despair just by looking into them.

And what he had said, what he had called the girl… Little Princess. How she had reacted to the news that messengers from the Princess Aeyera and Maladernil were arriving. She had panicked. Why?

The company below her slowed and then halted, and she circled down to join them on the ground. She landed on her hind legs, wings buffeting the air before pulling in to rest at her sides. She came to a rest on all fours, looking around. Aragorn noticed suddenly that the dragon had grown since they had first met her: she was the size of a horse. Indeed, her head was level with that of his current mount.

"We are nearly there," Maladernil told Telumë, keeping an eye on his surroundings. "But you shouldn't be in the air here. It is better that you remain on the ground with us so my kin…" he trailed off, searching for the right thing to say, but Telumë beat him to it.

"So they will not try and shoot me out of the sky?" he nodded, and she sighed. "I thought so."

They continued to move forward, following Maladernil, who was the only one who actually knew where the outpost was located. By dark, the glimmer of fire was visible, and all but Aragorn could make out the shapes of the figures around the fire. The elves could make out the features of their kin, and they rode faster. To Telumë's surprise, no one tried to shoot her, but she figured it was only a matter of time until something went wrong. She wondered if she could take off and fly out of range quickly enough to avoid being injured or killed should the need arise.

"My Lord Maladernil."

A flaxen haired archer waited for them, his bow held at his side. The king dismounted and greeted the warrior kindly. He explained the presence of Telumë to the elf, and as soon as he gave the order that she was not to be harmed, the elf let out a piercingly shrill whistle. Nearly a dozen elves emerged soundlessly from the shadows, sheathing their weapons and nodding reverently at their king. The outpost was set up near a lake—the only lake Telumë had been able to spot, actually—and consisted of several campfires. No bedrolls were in sight, and none were asleep. Apparently, Legolas and Maladernil were not the only elves who did not sleep.

As Maladernil spoke to the flaxen haired archer, an elf woman with long, fiery red hair came up to Telumë. The dragoness watched her, impressed that she did not seem afraid. The woman was pretty, as elves were, but seemed haunted by something. Her face was gaunt; her cheeks were sunken. Her eyes were haunted. The dragon took a step back, watching the she-elf warily.

She bowed, and when she rose she had a slight smile upon her face. "Hello," she greeted softly. "I am Tauriel, general of Maladernil's forces."

"I am Telumë," the dragoness replied, unsure of how to greet her. "Legolas speaks of you often," she added, though she was not sure why. She was not sure, but she thought she was a slight dusting of pink appear on the general's cheeks.

"I am afraid I cannot speak to him of happy things," she said under her breath.

The dragon frowned. "I thought the lost princess had been found," she said, trying not to sound accusing but sounding accusing all the same.

"I thought so as well, and my eyes do not often deceive me, but… something is off about her. A shadow has grown in my mind. Something is wrong, but I do not know if it is with the Princess or something else entirely."

"Are you sure it is the princess that was found?" Telumë asked. If anyone could answer her questions, surely it would be the one who found the girl in the first place. But Tauriel merely shrugged helplessly, looking doubtful. "As I said," she repeated. "My eyes do not deceive me. I hope it is her, but… something seems off about her. It could be that she wouldn't speak to me, it could be because she seemed so haunted, her eyes shadowed… I do not know. If it is not her…" she looked over Telumë's shoulder at Legolas, who was doing his best to pretend that he had not been staring at her. "For Legolas's sake," she whispered, beginning to walk over to him. The king caught sight of her and beckoned her over, but Telumë was able to catch her murmured words. "For his sake I pray it is her."


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter 12:

Telumë watched as the fiery-haired she-elf spoke to Legolas. The dragoness had excellent hearing, second to none, and could hear every word spoken between the two. Tauriel was desperate, begging him to think, to consider the possibility that the stranger was not his sister—and for a moment, he did. Telumë saw a sort of recognition dawn on his face, saw his eyes clear—and then his features hardened once more. Telumë heard his heartbeat accelerate. His pupils dilated, and much of the blue of his iris disappeared in his anger.

Legolas turned away from Tauriel, scowling, and she caught his hand in hers. Telumë watched as he froze, his shoulders stiffening, and then pulled away, striding into darkness.

Telumë's scaly brow furrowed. She knew how much Legolas had longed to see his friend, longed to see the one he loved—and yet he had jerked away; left her.

Aragorn stared after his friend as he stormed off, and then looked into the face of the elf he had left behind. She glanced back at him, and for a split second he could see the pain and grief and hurt prevalent in her gaze, and then her countenance turned impassive, and she turned away from him. He sighed, his eyelids drifting shut in his exhaustion, and he opened them in time to see Telumë barreling past him. He leapt to the side and stared after her as she followed after Legolas.

Telumë had had it. She understood the pain Legolas was going through; however, he should not be treating his friends poorly. He would lose Tauriel, lose Aragorn, lose her. She knew the consequences of pushing people away, despite not remembering having ever done so.

She came to a halt directly in front of the irate elf and planted her feet in the dirt. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't notice her, and he slammed into her. She absorbed the blow and held her ground, letting the shock of it flow into him. He stumbled backwards, a truly dangerous look upon his face. Before he could speak, Telumë let out a sound between a snarl and a shriek and stuck her face very close to his. He could see the faint glow of heat beneath the scales of her breast, but didn't seem to care.

"Wake up," she spat. A bit of molten saliva shot from her mouth and landed, sizzling, on the grass. "You are an elf! You should not be acting this way."

It was true, of course. She knew how nature worked. Elves were the some of the First, the purest of the created beings. Dragons, on the other hand, while nearly the same age as the elves, were, the darkest. If anyone should be angry and dark, it should be her; but it wasn't. It was him. And that knowledge frightened her.

Without a word, he turned his back on her and strode back towards the main group. She watched as he spoke sharply to several of the warriors, gesturing towards the horses sleeping nearby. She could hear him perfectly, even though he spoke in his own language. He wanted the horses to be ready to be ridden in the next few minutes. The soldiers shook their heads and responded in kind, and although she could not understand them, their meaning was perfectly clear: we can't. The horses need rest, and they are going to receive it.

She understood rest. She loved rest, especially after a long day's flight when she could curl up and relax her strained muscles. She knew Legolas too valued it, as before now he had allowed both she and Aragorn ample time to sleep. For some reason, though, he would not hear of it. His voice rose until he was shouting, and it was not until Maladernil came over and commanded him to be quiet and wait until morning to ride out did he fall silent. He stormed away, and Telumë and the elves watched as he disappeared into he shadows. She could still see him, of course, but he apparently thought he was invisible, as he began kicking at the grass in anger.

"What is wrong with him?"

Telumë turned to look at Tauriel, who stood beside her watching Legolas with sad, concerned eyes. She shook her great head and sighed. "I do not know."

"I am going to warn you of something," Tauriel said softly. She turned and captured the dragon in her golden stare. "Something that the others are thinking but do not say. Do you know of the most notorious trait of your kind is?"

Telumë shrugged, and her whole body twisted a bit in response. "I suppose it is our love of gold?" she replied. For some reason, perhaps the fact that she had never seen any gold, she did not feel at all compelled to seek after it.

But the elf shook her head. "No. It is your ability to manipulate the minds of others. Now, I believe there is something different about you, since you have been travelling with the Dúnedain and Legolas for some time now. I believe that if you bore ill will towards any of them, they would remain unscathed."

"I do not understand," Telumë turned her full attention to the she-elf.

"Legolas had not been himself lately, but I know it is because of the guilt he bears over his niece. However, the others do not know him as I do. They will think that he is under some spell. I am warning you because I know from Aragorn that you saved both of them from the grey beast and from the men who attacked him. The others do not know of these thing, and they may not believe them if they did."

Telumë felt as though the temperature of the air dropped. "What do I do, then?"

"Be careful," she replied stiffly, reaching down and running a finger along the main body of her bow. Her eyes followed Legolas, watching as he fell to his knees and slammed his fist into the ground. "Both of my kin… and of Legolas. He is dangerous when angered."

"I thought elves were the embodiment of light?"

"Aye. That is what we were created to be. Unfortunately, plans often are disrupted, and many things corrupted. Even the elves."

The dragoness thought about what Tauriel had said. Unbidden, a fragment of her dream shot to the forefront of her mind, and for a moment, the changing eyes of the figure from her vision swam before her eyes before vanishing. She shuddered, scales fluttering like leaves in a high breeze. "You think that elves can be corrupted." It was not a question.

"Yes. If a creature as dark as a dragon can be led to the light, then I begin to wonder if one as light as an elf can be dragged into darkness."

"But surely they can be brought back?" Telumë's tone grew urgent. If Legolas was being corrupted as Tauriel suspected, then Telumë had to bring him back. She wasn't sure how, yet, but she had to find a way. "If a… a dragon can be good, then surely—"

Tauriel shook her head. "How easy is it to wound something?" she asked, cutting Telumë off. The dragon eyes her curiously, and the elf repeated her question.

"It depends on the creature, I suppose," she replied, thinking of her kin, whose scales were nearly impervious to any weapon.

"A human," she supplied.

"Oh. Very easy, I suppose." The image of the man she had nearly decapitated flashed before her eyes, and she winced, feeling for a moment the man's stringy tendons and hot blood upon her tongue. "Why?"

"Now consider how quickly a wound heals."

Telumë could not get the image of the man from her mind, and she shuddered once more, her scales rattling together. "What sort of wound?" Some, like the one she had dealt the man, would never heal, being fatal. Others, like the one she had been dealt, healed more quickly.

The elf thought for a moment. "A stab wound," she answered. "Being run through by some sort of a weapon, either a sword or a spear."

Telumë had never seen anyone be run through by either weapon and had never seen a spear. When she enquired as to what it was, the elf told her that it was a long, thick arrow without fletching that was thrown by hand rather than shot by bow. "I do not know how long it would take to heal," she replied. "A long time, I suppose?"

The elf nodded slowly. "Yes. But different wounds take different amounts of time to heal. For example, a scrape would heal in a few days or weeks, while a more serious injury might take months. A stab wound however… often the question of how long it will take to heal is not even considered until another question is answered."

"And what question is that?" Telumë asked, thinking that she might already know the answer but not quite sure if she knew where the she-elf was going with her questions.

"Whether or not the victim will live. Injuries such as these, if they heal, leave scars. Mortals, if they live, bear these forever, while for elves, they fade over time. Think of darkness as a wound. If Legolas has been corrupted, it will be as if he has received a grievous wound."

Telumë finally caught on, horrified. The light from her eyes grew in intensity. "And the question will not be 'when will he return from it… but rather, whether he will survive it or not?"

Tauriel nodded sadly. "Then why will you do nothing? Surely you could speak to him, or—"

The old warrior cut her off sharply. "I know you were listening, Telumë. I spoke to him. He would not listen."

"Then try again."

The she-elf's eyes flashed, but a look of defeat came over her. "Do not make the mistake of thinking that you are the only one her who cares for Legolas," she replied. She gazed after the prince, wishing with every fiber of her being that she could wake him up, bring him back—but she didn't know how. She thought of Aeyera, who had been tortured and dragged down into darkness until she had been nearly consumed by it, but had been saved by the Valar, and through her love for Kili, the dwarf prince of Erebor. She wished the same happy ending would occur here, but she doubted it would. The Valar seemed to have fallen silent these last months.

"Do you love him?"

The dragoness's questions snapped her out of her reverie. "What?"

Telumë repeated her question. She had seen how the elf looked at Legolas, seen the heartwarming love that shined in her eyes. There were different types of love, to be sure—certainly, she loved Aragorn and Legolas, but as friends, certainly not in a romantic way! But she thought that Tauriel might.

The elf in question stared at the dragoness in shock. Telumë's green yes glowed with inner fire, and she watched her closely. The truth was, she was not sure of her feelings for Legolas. She had spent so long forcing them away because her fear for Legolas's father. Now that he was gone, however, she was free to express them, free to love him. She knew that he, according to Thranduil's words so many decades before, had loved her, once. She did not know if his feelings remained, or indeed if they had existed at all. Telumë's question hung in the air, and without realizing it, she nodded. "Yes," she whispered. Her heart tugged painfully at the sight of Legolas, bent over, shaking, nearly fifty meters away.

Telumë nudged her with her nose. "Then go to him," she murmured. "Try again."

Tauriel swallowed. She was about to respond when Maladernil's voice rang out through the stillness of the night. "Dawn approaches."

Sure enough, the sky behind them was lightening. Neither female had noticed, they had been so enraptured with their thoughts. Legolas rose to his feet and returned to the camp, not bothering to look either Tauriel or Telumë in the eye as he strode past them. He was on a fresh horse in moments, and he glared down at his brother as his mount pawed the ground restlessly. Apparently it could sense its master's nervousness.

Maladernil, although he chose to hide it, was clearly growing restless as well. He gathered his supplies and strapped them to his back, but he seemed distracted the entire time he did so. He was paler than usual, and his hands shook as he stoked his horse's neck. Tauriel, to Telumë's surprise, mounted up as well. She had a pack of supplies as well.

"Are you coming?"

Tauriel gave Telumë a slight smile. From her position, she was able to look down at the dragoness, but just barely. The dragon's head was even with that of the horse. "Of course. My soldiers remain in Anorien, I must return to them." Telumë knew that was not the only reason she insisted on riding with them, but she said nothing.

The sun hadn't yet peeked over the horizon when the group set off. Telumë took to the sky, soaring high above the ground. The sun rose to her right, bathing the earth in bright, fresh light, and she reveled in it. The horizon grew hazy, and she could not help but wonder how long it would take her to fly to Anorien if she were to leave the others behind.

The following night, when they stopped to allow the horses, Aragorn, and Telumë a bit of rest, she asked the king. His response was that he did not wish her to be shot from the sky, which she understood, but still, she wished to test her limits. More than that, though, she wished to see the girl before Legolas did.

Tauriel had suggested that the land was making Legolas sick; the others looked rather pale as well. Apparently the land through which they were traveling, which Aragorn called Emyn Muil and the Dead Marshes, was an evil, horrible place. Telumë was able to avoid the bulk of it, since she could fly above it all, but oftentimes she would be forced to circle back around or even land as the elves and man worked to coax their mounts to pass over thin ledges and around stinking pools of rotten water. Telumë wasn't sure, or perhaps she simply did not wish to be sure, but she thought she saw _faces _in the water beneath the marshes, both foul and fair. She was very grateful when they passed beyond that land. Still, though, she did not think it was only the land that made Legolas so sickly.

Soon after, however, they reached a river, and here she was put to the test. The horses could not come with them, that much was certain. The river was swollen and nearly half a mile across, according to Maladernil. Without hesitation, Telumë offered to fly the elves and man over, although she could not bring the horses. The elves spoke to their mounts and sent them off; apparently they knew to stay nearby and would return when called. Telumë flew them over one by one, focusing all her concentration into staying in the air and not tumbling into the river in exhaustion. The elves were lighter than they looked, but Aragorn made up for that, as he was considerably heavier.

According to Maladernil, it was only a day and a half until they reached the camp, but he decided that they all should rest while they could, as no doubt they would be very busy in the coming days.

The very thought of his niece was driving Legolas mad. Whenever her name was said—and Telumë could hear him, when she flew close enough—he would snap, lashing out at either his brother or Aragorn or Tauriel. Tauriel, Telumë could tell, was growing tired of his actions. They needed to reach Anorien soon. Even Maladernil and Aragorn were growing concerned; he was grown so pale as to be considered sickly—and elves, according to Tauriel, did not get sick—and had nearly ceased eating.

This was why, the night before the group was supposed to reach the base in Anorien, Telumë took off on her own. If the girl was not who she said she was, Telumë needed to know. And, somehow, she knew she would. And so, while Aragorn slept and the elves dreamed and walked above the stars, Telumë flew with them, beating away exhaustion as she scanned the land for any sign of a camp. The terrain below her grew mountainous and forested, making it more difficult to search, as there were more places to hide. Near dusk, however, around the time she knew Legolas and the others would be nearing the camp, she spotted it. She angled her wings downward and soared closer, careful to keep herself hidden from sight in the clouds and the mist.

At the camp, the elves were preparing for darkness. A large fire roared in the center of a clearing. A single tent was pitched near to it, and a small figure was huddled at its flap, staring into the flames. Every now and then, an elf would cross the clearing, but the figure never once moved. She never even blinked. Her eyes reflected the gold and scarlet of the flames, but the light did nothing to diminish the sickly pallor that hung about her. Her skin was chalky and pale even from this distance, and dark bruises encircled her eyes.

What startled Telumë, though, was that as she watched, her eyes flicked up and focused directly upon her. At that moment, she was certain of one thing: something was wrong with this girl. She had hidden malice within her, and however well she hid it from the elves, she couldn't hide it from the dragon.

Without considering the consequences, she angled her wings and hurtled towards the ground, falling into a steep dive. One hundred yards up, she spread her wings to slow her descent, and she beat them slowly until she reached the ground. To better convey her power to the figure before her, she landed within the roaring flames of the fire. They licked around her, curling around her body and wings but doing no damage. Keeping her eyes on the girl, she pushed forward out of the flames, feeling the coals crack and burst beneath her claws.

The girl's lips curled up into a small smile, and she stood. The elves continued to stroll past without a second glance, and Telumë was struck by the sudden realization that they couldn't see her. For the elves not to see her, they must be under a spell. And as she had no magic beyond the normal magic dragons possessed, which she wasn't using, it had to have been the girl who held them under her control. And as elves were magical themselves, and very powerful, this must mean that the girl was more powerful than they, which was… impossible.

As soon as this thought hit her, she turned her attention back on the girl before her. She towered over her, much like a horse would tower over a child. If this was the missing princess, then perhaps she could smell where she had been. Telumë took a deep breath, tasting the air around her, and she recoiled, snarling. The scent of madness remained, but another, stronger scent overpowered even it. Death. Not the scent of decay, per say, but… if despair, and loss, and fear could have a scent, this wound be it. Telumë glared at the girl, and the emerald light from her eyes seemed to be absorbed by those of the girl.

_"Hello,"_ the girl said. Her voice was small, but not weak. She watched the dragon carelessly, a smirk resting on her lips. She was very relaxed, which was odd considering that she stood before a large dragon that could quite easily tear her to pieces if she so desired.

Now that Telumë stood between the girl and the fire, she could make out the girl's features better. Her skin was as pale as snow, her grey eyes like tombstones.

_"Who are you?"_ Telumë barked. She had no wish to play the girl's games. All she wanted was to learn of the girl's identity and go keep her friends away from this place. She instinctively began to tense and coil back, subconsciously preparing for a fight.

The girl tilted her head. _"You don't know?"_ Telumë realized suddenly that she was speaking her language, one which no mortals, save Legolas, could speak; and he only could because she had allowed him to do so.

_"No. Tell me." _Her voice grew lower and more dangerous, and her tail twitched as she crouched down like a cat about to pounce. The longer she waited for an answer, the more anxious she became. She was positive now that the girl possessed at least a small amount of magic, and the more the elves ignored her, the more certain and nervous she grew.

_ "First, tell me: who are you?"_

_"I am Telumë," _the dragoness responded with a hiss. Her scales glowed brighter as her anger grew. She answered no further not to protect her identity, but because she did not have one. Aragorn and Legolas had given her a name, but she did not know her real one.

_"Are you?" _the girl's smirk widened, and her eyes gleamed. She seemed very pleased by her answer, although Telumë could not tell why. The sudden sound of familiar voices reached Telumë's ears, and she twitched, listening. Her friends were growing very close. The girl's smirk grew into a dangerous smile. _"Your friends are here." _

Without warning, the girl lunged forward and flung out a hand towards Telumë. A burst of energy surged from her palm and hit the dragon in the chest. She skidded backwards but held her ground, snarling. The ground beneath her was torn and ragged, and she dug her claws into the earth to steady herself. The girl stood still, knotted hair hanging over her face, the same maniacal leer on her face. So she was correct; the girl was magic. And since she was positive that Legolas's niece possessed no magic, this meant that the girl was an imposter, a fraud.

With a roar, Telumë sprang forward, swiping at the figure with her claws. This was not Legolas's niece, she was sure of that. The girl leapt over her arm and landed lightly on her feet, smiling demonically. Her eyes flashed red, then grey again.

Legolas ran ahead of the others. His kin had directed him to the clearing where his niece had taken up residence, and he hurried there as quickly as he could. A roar cut through the air, and a shriek cut through the silence that followed. His blood froze, and he sprinted forward. The dragon had disappeared the night before last; had she come here? He shouldn't have trusted it. It was a creature of darkness, and he was about to pay for his mistake of trusting her, he was sure of it. If he wasn't quick enough, the dragon would kill his niece. He burst into the clearing in time to see Telumë let loose a torrent of flames—_right at Kiyera. _He howled in horror and flew forward, wide, glassy eyes reflecting the firelight.

Telumë shook, her chest heaving from exertion. Blood seeped between her scales, flowing from the wound on her shoulder. The flames that surged from her maw were emerald green, hotter than any fire she had felt before. They engulfed the creature within them, and for a brief moment, she caught sight of the figure smiling even as it screamed. Its cries seemed false, over dramatized. Its hair flowed over its shoulders as if caught in a slow breeze, and it seemed peaceful. Also, she noted with alarm, it was not dying like it should. Its eyes met hers, and then flickered to the side. Telumë's gaze followed, and her eyes widened at the sight of Legolas rushing towards her. She looked back at the creature in time to see a flash of white light, and suddenly it was no longer there. The flames from her mouth ceased, but the ground and trees around her still burned crimson and gold. There was no sign of the monster that had stood there moments before.

She trembled with fear and pain, and she turned away. But as soon as she caught sight of the scene before her, she froze, and her blood turned to ice in her veins.


	14. Chapter 13

Chapter 13:

Legolas stood feet from her, an arrow on the string of his bow, murder in his eyes. Behind him, more of his kin stood with bows drawn, all marking her as their target.

Icy horror flooded her veins as she realized what had just happened, what she had done. All Legolas had seen was her murdering his niece. He didn't know that it was not really her; all he knew—_thought _he knew—was that a dragon had killed someone he loved.

Telumë's green eyes glowed as brightly as her flames as she surveyed him. He stood completely still, but she could see the slightest quiver in his fingers as they held the fletching of the arrow straight. She heard the pounding of his heart, and she understood: he was about to kill her. Without bothering to consider the consequences, she acted. As his fingers loosened from the fletching of his arrow, she whirled around and, with her tail, whipped his legs out from under him. She managed to duck beneath his arrow as she crouched down and spread her wings, and as he fell, she took flight, moving faster than she ever had before.

She felt several arrows bounce off her scales, but more than one pierced her wings, flying straight through the thin membrane. She let out shrieks of pain but flew faster, beating her wings harder to escape. Somehow, she made it into the sky and soared high above the heads of the elves, staring down at them as she panted, searching the nearby mountains for a place to rest. The pierced membrane of her wings tugged and tore with every flap of her wings, and finally she began speeding north, flying over mountains and swamps. Night fell completely, and still she pressed on.

How could this happen? A number of weeks ago, Legolas had welcomed her into his little group with open arms. The two had made a special connection; he could understand her language just as she could understand his. He had trusted her. Hadn't she proven herself to him?

A growl rumbled within her chest. She was angry, yes, but also hurt. Her heart throbbed, though not as badly as her wings did. She whimpered and pressed on. Hopefully she could make it to somewhere safe before her strength gave out. The Dead Marshes stared up at her, and little lights flickered up from the murky darkness.

She shuddered and flew on, thinking. Who had the girl been, really? Not Kiyera, that much was certain. Not an elf, either, they were too pure to be going around putting spells on each other. Besides, the magic the girl had used was much stronger than that of the elves.

A mountain peak rose up out from beneath a bank of cloud, and Telumë banked to the left, avoiding the outcropping easily. She managed to fly up, higher than the clouds, and when she broke through them, the moon awaited her, hanging in the sky with thousands of stars, all twinkling merrily down at her.

A realization struck her as she gazed out across the earth, watching as the moonlight coated everything, living or not, in a silver glow. The girl's eyes—they weren't green. Telumë was almost positive that Legolas had told her that his niece had green eyes, and yet the girl's irises had flickered between red and grey. Another memory flickered to the forefront of her mind. Her dream. The figure from her dream had the same eyes the girl did—and he most definitely was not an elf. Were they the same kind of creature? The girl most definitely had magic, seeing as how she blinded all the elves and vanished, not to mention was able to avoid Telumë's flames.

She blinked slowly, and then jerked her eyes open as she dropped several feet. She was exhausted. Her muscles burned, and her wounds screamed for attention. She remembered with a thrill of fear that she was cold-blooded, and although someday it would not matter, today it meant that she was small enough to freeze. Indeed, her muscles and wings grew stiff even as she realized this, and her mind and movements grew sluggish.

It was near midnight when the dragoness's strength gave out. She dropped from the sky, slowly at first, and then faster and faster. The wind whipped around her, spinning her body around, but she was too weak to do anything about it. She had just enough wits about her to spread her wings to slow her descent, but still she plowed into the ground when she hit, and a furrow was left in her wake. She remained where she fell, unable to move, her wings crumpled beneath her. She breathed heavily, her mouth slightly open, sided heaving. Her wounds, which had begun to scab while she flew, had reopened during her crash-landing, and hot blood trickled down her back and mingled with the blood from her wings. The light from her eyes dimmed, and without realizing it, she passed into unconsciousness.

When she woke, the sun had risen. She was lying in a valley, the sky was overcast, and an old man in grey robes knelt beside her on the grass, smoking a pipe. She blinked slowly, her mind still moving too sluggishly for her to realize what exactly was happening. The old man said nothing. His grey eyes twinkled at her from under the rim of his blue hat. Grey eyes. She lifted up her neck and head, watching him suspiciously. The rest of her was in too much pain to move. He didn't seem dangerous, but she could sense a deep magic about him, older than that of the elves and the girl from the previous night. She debated asking him who he was, but before she could speak, he addressed her.

"You are quite a long way from home, aren't you?" he asked, puffing along on his pipe. She blinked in surprise. She didn't threaten him at all, it seemed. The old man was armed, yes; she could see the twisted wooden staff that rested beside him as well as the sword that was belted to his waist, but all the same, she didn't feel that he was about to draw either of them upon her. She was grateful for this, especially considering the night before. When she didn't answer, being caught up in her thoughts and all, he spoke again. "Come now, little one. Tell me: what are you doing here? You should be in Ered Mithrim with the rest of your kin, and yet you are here, in the middle of the Wold. Why?"

"Where is the Wold?" she asked, brow furrowing.

The old man smiled broadly and removed his hat. "A lady, I see. Well, my dear, the Wold is directly east of Fangorn forest, north of Rohan."

"Where is this in relation to Anorien?" she asked him. He was kind, she gave him that, and that was why she was not flying away or demanding answers. However, she was very afraid that if she was too close to Anorien, Legolas would somehow find her and kill her.

"Why, Anorien lies nearly two hundred leagues from here." He gave her a searching look.

"And…" she shifted, wincing as little barbs of pain shot up and down her spine. "And how long would it take for an elven mount to reach this place from there?"

"It depends on the route they take," he replied lightly. "But most likely, between three days and a fortnight." She nodded. "Now, my dear, if you would not mind answering some of my questions?"

She nodded consentingly. "Alright."

"Who are you?" His first question was straightforward, but she sensed that his others would not be so easy for her to answer. He moved close to her and began whispering under his breath, resting his hand over the injuries on her wing. She was too stiff and tired to pull away, although she did twist her head around to keep him in her sight.

"I am Telumë."

The old man nodded. "And how did you receive this name?" At her look of confusion, he explained, moving on to the next puncture wound. "Names are strange things, especially with your kin; oftentimes it is those who are terrorized by the dragons that name them, and yet name is an elvish one, and a kind one at that. Who gave you your name, and why?"

Telumë blinked. She hadn't realized the significance of her name. "An elf," she answered vaguely. The old man gave her an annoyed look. "He named me because I saved his life," she answered the final half of the question. "And because I didn't have a name before."

"Curious," the man muttered, staring down at the ground. His bushy grey eyebrows quivered. "From what did you save him?"

"A group of men," she replied. He voice lowered, and she stared down at the ground. "A group of murderers."

The man looked up at her. "Murderers?"

The dragoness nodded, grief from the memory weighing heavily on her shoulders. She remembered the dying boy from her visions, as well as the slaughtered children at the village. "Yes."

"And how did this elf happen upon you?"

"Who are you?" Telumë asked instead. She would not answer any more questions until hers were answered to her liking. She didn't know this man, who apparently had found her in the middle of nowhere some two hundred leagues from where she had started, and she wasn't going to tell him about Legolas or Aragorn until she knew she could trust him.

The old man sighed, scratching his bearded chin, and removed his hand from her wing. She noticed with surprise that nearly all the tears in her wing were gone. The dragon looked up and stared back at him determinedly.

The Istar knew who she was, of course, having received an urgent message from the lady Galadriel only the day before to go and meet her. Apparently, according to Galadriel, something had happened in Erebor. She hadn't specified what was wrong, preferring for him to go and figure it out himself, but he guessed it had something to do with strife between the elves and the dwarves.

Mithrandir decided to answer her and see if he might persuade her gently to comply with his questioning. "I am Gandalf the Grey," he answered gravely. The dragoness blinked, something about the name ringing a bell in some dark recess of her mind.

"You are a wizard?" she asked him. He nodded, but she began speaking again before he could get a word in. "Are there many magical beings in Middle Earth besides yourself and the elves?"

Telumë's question was so unexpected, it took him a moment to garner an answer. "There are a few," he replied haltingly. "There are four other wizards besides myself and, of course, the dragons have their own magic."

"No, I mean…" she thought about what exactly to say. Gandalf watched her with no small degree of interest as she struggled to gather her thoughts to formulate an adequate question. "Are there creatures with magic more powerful than that of the elves?"

"Only my kin," he replied carefully.

"The wizards?"

"And others."

Telumë frowned, thinking hard. She was mentally going down the list of creatures she knew of. She knew the girl was no dragon as none of her kin could change their forms, especially to that of a small elven-dwarf girl, not that they would want to in the first place. The girl was not a wizard; she did not think they could change their physical forms either. And the girl was most definitely no elf. The closest creature she could connect it to was the one in her dreams, the man with the changing eyes who resided on the borders of Imladris. "What color eyes do you all have?"

The wizard sighed in exasperation. The young dragoness was clearly troubled about something, as her questions were growing increasingly sporadic and random. Her thoughts seemed to be whirring around at untold speeds, and the wizard, for all his wisdom, had no idea what was going on. "What is it that troubles you?" he finally asked, tired of waiting.

After a moment's pause, during which she paused her current train of thoughts and began a new one, she explained everything. Legolas and Strider, as she remembered he must be called, finding her. Stumbling upon the slaughtered human village. Fighting and slaying the Grey Fell; finding and travelling with the Dúnedain; Legolas's change in behavior. She told him of her dreams, not leaving out a detail. Finally, she told him of what happened the night before, how the girl used magic against her before vanishing, and how Legolas assumed that she had killed his niece and had tried to kill her in response. When she finished, the pair sat in silence for a while, the dragon waiting on the wizard to speak. At some point during her story, the wizard had gone back to healing her wings, and by the time she had finished, her wings were mended and her shoulder healing.

"I happen to know Legolas Greenleaf quite well," the wizard said slowly, frowning. He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed that his pipe had gone out. "And you are right; he is not the kind of elf to attack someone without reason, or lose sight of the overall objective when much is at stake. That is more of his sister's forte."

"You know his sister?" The Princess Aeyera, whom Telumë had heard of multiple times, seemed to be connected to everything Telumë had stumbled upon since awakening in Ered Mithrim.

"Indeed," he replied with a tight-lipped smile. "I knew her when she was only a young elfling, well over two hundred years ago. I also know her brothers Legolas and Maladernil, as well as her husband, Kili, and son, Kirin."

"And what of her daughter?" Telumë asked hesitantly.

"I knew Kiyera as well," he answered. "Though I have not seen her in some time. Do you know what happened to her? You spoke of the search for her, but not how she disappeared."

Telumë shook her head. The wizard's face grew grave, and he stared at the dragoness with bright eyes. She shifted nervously, glancing around. She didn't understand why the wizard was so angry, unless… he hadn't known. "You didn't know, did you?" she asked softly.

"I did not."

"How did you know to find me?" she questioned, craning her neck to stare at him. He was a wizard, and she was quite certain that wizards had better things to do that to wander around in the wilderness waiting for friendly dragons to fall from the sky in the dead of night.

"I was sent," he replied shortly, "by the Lady Galadriel. She told me that something was amiss in Erebor and that you were involved some way or another. I assumed it was some petty argument amongst the dwarves and the elves, not the disappearing of a princess."

Telumë, although interested by this… _Galadriel_, nevertheless had more pressing matters to tend to. "Sir, where must I go?"

The wizard, who had been muttering to himself under his breath, glanced up at her. She stared at him, green eyes wide, waiting for an answer. His healing hands burned against her scales. He remained silent for a few moments. "I don't know."

Telumë blinked. He was a wizard, how could he not know?! "What would you recommend, then?" she asked, forcing down the panic that rose within her at the thought of Legolas catching up to her and killing her.

"Considering what you are, I do not know that there is anyplace short of Ered Mithrim that you could return to that you would not immediately be shot out of the sky." Telumë's eyes went wide. She couldn't just _leave. _Not now, not after everything she had learned—and what about the missing girl? She had to find her. And, perhaps even more than that, she had to find out what manner of creature had been posing as Kiyera.

"May I ask you something?" she asked.

"You just did," the wizard smiled, "but you may ask me something else, yes."

"Why am I experiencing these dreams?" she asked. "I don't understand why I can see these visions, these… _memories_. Unless they are part of the life I cannot remember, they do not belong to me, and yet I experience them as if they were my own. Could I have been traveling with this girl? No, I see them as if I were her…" she thought. "Could I have a connection with her like I do with Legolas? I can understand him no matter the language he speaks as well as sense his mind, as he can mine. Perhaps the girl and I have the same connection? But who _is _she?"

The wizard, who had remained silent during her verbal tirade, held up a hand to slow her rant. "Those are multiple questions, not only one," he said first, "but I will answer what I can. I am afraid I do not know why you are experiencing these dreams. Perhaps you were travelling with this girl; although, as you said, it would not make sense that you see through the young woman's eyes. Perhaps you do have a connection with her as you do Legolas, it might make sense that you share your memories, although you do not seem to share any with the elven prince."

Telumë frowned; she had not thought of that. "But who is she?" she asked again, her voice small.

"Do you remember where the girl was last headed?" Gandalf asked. He had a very good idea of who the girl was, although he wasn't sure if it was prudent to tell the young dragoness just yet.

Telumë huffed, and Gandalf noticed with a hint of amusement the sparks that flew from her nostrils as she did so. "I do not know an exact location, no."

"But who was she going to see?" the old man pressed.

The answer was absurd. Surely the girl hadn't attempted to see him? "Mandos?"

"That is what I fear."

"But who _is_ she, Gandalf?" Telumë asked, dragging the conversation back to the girl's identity. "I know you have figured it out. And I have a thought, although I do not know if it is right or not. Please, tell me yours."

"I think," Gandalf said after a short pause, "that you may be the key to finding the lost princess. What that means, I do not know."

Telumë thought she was beginning to understand. "Gandalf, is Kiyera the girl?" she asked, her voice a whisper. "Is she the one I see in my visions?"

"I believe so," he answered heavily.

A toothy grin stretched across her face, and she laughed. She leapt to her feet and bounded around the wizard, tumbling around in the tall grass. Her wings and shoulder were healed, thankfully, and she moved with a spring in her step. "So you know where she is, then?" she asked happily, coming to a halt in front of the wizard. He had climbed to his feet and now leaned against his staff. He was quite tall, for an old man, and she only was a bit higher than he.

"I have a guess as to where she may have gone," he replied. "But it is a very long journey away."

"Where?" she asked. She would go anywhere to find her, to bring her back. If she was the key to finding Kiyera, then perhaps Kiyera was the key to her memory. She knew that the girl was at least the key to convincing Legolas of her innocence regarding the girl's apparent murder.

"It is a very long journey," the wizard stated bluntly, shifting his weight. "One that you may not be able to make."

"Where is she?" Telumë repeated, growing impatient. She would leave at once, if need be, as soon as she found out the location and the way to reach it.

"It is not where I know her to be, but rather where I suspect her to be," Gandalf warned her. "And it is a journey filled with much danger and peril."

"Where is she?" Telumë repeated. Her voice was somber now; no longer was she filled with the childlike excitement that had coursed through her just moments before.

"The Halls of Mandos."


	15. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Telumë blinked, not sure she had heard correctly. The Halls of Mandos? As in, the Vala of the dead? The dragoness suddenly did not feel quite so eager to go chasing after the lost princess. "Gandalf," she murmured, shaking her great head. "I don't think I can do this. You have the wrong dragon, I'm not… I can't be…"

Gandalf seemed to sense her misgivings, because he placed his gnarled hand upon her shoulder. "I know you are frightened," he said, his low voice soothing. "And I know you feel very confused and very alone. But remember, you are so much more than what you know. Everything you have done, or have not done, has led you here. You were meant to meet Legolas, just as he was meant to be Kiyera's uncle, and so on. All that has happened has happened for a reason. If you look at all the events of the past few centuries, you will see that most of them are so tightly interwoven with each other that it is nearly impossible to separate one from the other. "For example, if Aeyera had not been held prisoner, she never would have joined the Dúnedain, and never would have met Arathorn. If this had not happened, she never would have remained in Middle Earth; it is likely she would have fled from her father's palace and travelled to the Undying Lands. She would not have joined the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, and it is very likely that Fili and Kili would have fallen in battle beside their uncle. Thranduil would not have died; I doubt he would have even attempted to fight if his children had not forced his hand. Maladernil would not have returned from exile and would not now be king had his sister not called him home. Kiyera and Kirin would not have been born, and you, my dear, would not be here either, since Legolas would be in Mirkwood serving his father. So tell me," he concluded. "Do you really think all this happened by chance? Or will you consider the possibility that maybe, just _maybe_, you are meant to do this? That you are the one creature in Middle Earth that can right the wrong done to this world?"

The dragoness' head was spinning, but something about the wizard's tone set her on edge. "You're not telling me something," she frowned. "What is it?"

"I suspect that there is something at work," he admitted. "Something evil. You are too young to remember, but many hundreds—actually, thousands—of years ago, there was an evil called Sauron. He very nearly succeeded in taking over Middle Earth, but he was defeated and presumed dead. Now, however, he had returned. I believe that he is manipulating Kiyera's disappearance to set the free peoples of Middle Earth against each other."

A thrill of fear ran through Telumë at the mention of Sauron's name. "What do you mean?"

"Kiyera is a dwarvish princess. She disappeared in a human village, on the borders of an elven kingdom. The elves and dwarves, and dwarves and men, have never had a strong relationship. Now, however, it is worse than ever. Many of the dwarves assume that either the men or the elves are holding the princess captive or have killed her."

Telumë frowned. "But Kiyera's mother, Aeyera—she is an elf, is she not?"

"Yes indeed. Aeyera herself is half-elven, as her mother was, and that is why she was able to marry Kili, since she chose to revoke her immortal birthright to be with him."

"Half-elven?" Telumë questioned. "And half what?"

"Human."

"So Kiyera is a mixture of all the races?" Telumë clarified.

"Mostly, yes. Which makes it nigh impossible for me to believe that any of the three races kidnapped or harmed her, as each would see her as one of their own, in a way. In fact, Aeyera's grandfather was a woodsman who fell in love with an elf maid from the Greenwood."

"The Greenwood?"

"Many centuries ago. At least two millenniums ago, but only a few generations back for the elves. The point I am trying to make," snapped the wizard, pulling the conversation back on track, "is that it is highly unlikely that any of the races had anything to do with the princess's disappearance. And yet the elves and dwarves eye each other with malice while doubt begins to stir in their minds. The men, so far, remain outside their petty arguments, but it is only a matter of time before they are drawn into it. And when they are…"

"They would not go to war over her, would they?" Telumë's eyes widened. The dwarves and elves both cared for Kiyera, as her mother was the elvish princess and her father was the dwarvish prince, but did they hate each other enough to kill for her?

"I am afraid that they would, especially if the darkness is manipulating their actions and twisting their thoughts." The wizards stretched, rolling his shoulders, and abruptly changed the subject. "I must be off. I have a long journey ahead of me." He began walking, and Telumë followed, bounding after him.

"Wait! I do not even know where I am going!"

"Ah, yes." Gandalf stopped once more, prompting the dragon to halt very suddenly and skid to a stop so as to not hit the wizard, and pulled out an old map from somewhere within his robes. Telumë eyed them suspiciously, but turned her attention back to the wizard as he opened up the parchment. The wizard spent several minutes explaining where they were, which shape with Middle Earth, and where Anorien was—Telumë still was wondering how fast elves could run, and if her blood had made a trail leading straight to her—before she finally understood part of the map. After all, she couldn't read. Once Gandalf explained where she needed to go—"It will not be a short journey. Fly west until you reach the sea; it will, for you, only take a few days to reach the coast. Rest for at least a day; gather your strength. You must then continue flying over the sea until you reach Númenor. Rest there, if you can. It will be several days more, by my count, until you reach the shores of the Undying Lands. When you do reach them, you must be careful not to be seen; in fact, you cannot land until you reach the Halls of Mandos; it is forbidden for a mortal to step foot in the Undying Lands. It will take nearly a week to reach the Halls of Mandos from the other shore—"

"Wait, please—" the poor dragon was terribly overwhelmed. Her friend had tried to kill her the night before, and now she was being told to go to a place where his people and the most powerful beings in existence lived, and that if she landed on their shore, she would be killed. She sat down, hanging her head. "Is there another way? Some way for me to fly around? If these beings are as powerful as you say there are—" Telumë shook her head, too frightened to speak. A fragment of a memory made itself known to her, and she leapt to her feet. "I cannot fly so far without rest, and no mortals are permitted to step foot in the Undying Lands. I cannot go there."

"You must," Gandalf urged. He thought for a moment. "Actually, there is another way, but it will take longer. You will not, however, have to fly over the Undying Lands; you will simply arrive at the front gates when you reach the shores."

The dragon nodded vigorously. "Alright."

Gandalf showed her the new route, but also told her that she must make one stop before she left Middle Earth. He gestured to the small spot on the map, and she sucked in a breath, feeling as though the oxygen in the air had disappeared.

"What?" she gasped. "You want me to go _there_? Why?"

"You need to explain everything that has happened—" Gandalf tried to explain, but Telumë was panicking, not listening to a word he was saying.

"I might as well go back to Anorien and find Legolas—they will shoot my on sight! Why would you think for a moment that they will listen to a word I have to say? The last dragon to land on their doorstep—"

The wizard answered with as much patience as he could muster. "You will not be landing on their doorstep," he said civilly. "You will be landing on their balcony."

"That is the same thing!" Her voice had lifted to a shriek, and she looked on the verge of a breakdown. Her sides were heaving, her chest and nostril glowing with inner fire.

The wizard wisely took a few steps back. "My dear," he said sternly. "Calm down. You will be travelling at night, and you will land on their balcony. I know for a fact that the princess goes out almost every night to watch the stars. Go to her then, explain what has happened."

"And… and she won't kill me?" Telumë squeaked.

Gandalf shook his head. "No. Aeyera is skilled with a bow, but she has no magic, and she will not carry her weapons in her own bedroom."

Telumë nodded shakily. "How will she know to trust me?"

"Oh, yes." Gandalf rummaged through the many pockets of his robe before pulling out a small wrapped bundle and handing it to her. He, with her permission, tied it to her foreleg. "Show this to her," he instructed. "She should believe you after that."

"And if she doesn't?" Telumë tried, narrowing her eyes.

The wizard shrugged. "Then try Kirin," he suggested. "He should be more than willing to listen to you, as long as you have spoken to Aeyera first."

Telumë nodded and took off. The wizard stood beneath her and watched as she ascended, keeping an eye on her until she disappeared into the north. He lowered his head, his eyes shaded by the rim of his hat, and began hiking towards Lothlórien. He needed to speak to Lady Galadriel; something strange was at work in Middle Earth.

Despite all the work that needed to be done, Aragorn remained where he was, crouching by the fire with his head in his hands. He hadn't seen everything that had happened the night before, but he had seen enough. First was Telumë, his _friend_, trying to kill what looked like Legolas's niece. Second, and most important, was that the girl had not died, but had vanished as if she had never existed. He had seen her eyes as well: they had changed color, turning from blood red to the dreary grey of a tomb. Finally, he had seen Legolas fire upon her and give the order for the others to do so as well.

He was too late to stop them, but he managed to convince Legolas to stay in Anorien rather than going after Telumë in the middle of the night. As soon as he had done this, the elven prince had crumpled, weeping into the ranger's shoulder. Aragorn sensed rather than saw much of the darkness leave him, although there still was some there. Now Legolas was perched high in a nearby spruce, staring blankly into the fire.

"_Estel."_

The ranger glanced up at Tauriel and nodded his head in greeting as she moved to sit beside him.

_"What happened last night?" _she asked softly. She and Maladernil had arrived too late to see what had happened; they had only seen Aragorn struggling to take Legolas's bow from him, and then seen the prince fall apart.

_"I cannot be certain, but I am very sure that the girl who was here was not Legolas's niece." _He explained what he had seen, and Tauriel slowly nodded her head.

_"I wondered what was wrong with her," _she said softly. In response to Aragorn's questioning look, she explained. _"Her eyes. I didn't realize it, then, but they weren't Kiyera's. They were a dark grey, like midnight mist, and very haunted. At the time, I was so shocked at seeing her again, so anxious to get her home, I forgot all the details about her appearance. It seems that I have paid dearly for my mistake."_

Aragorn shook his head. _"It is not your fault."_

_ "It is. If I had not sent a messenger to find Legolas, Telumë would not have been attacked and driven off. She was the only one of us who saw the girl for what she really was, and her reward was a volley of arrows." _The she-elf threw a stone into the fire, and the pair watched as the log it had punctured sent up a brilliant flurry of sparks.

_"Where do you think she is now?" _Aragorn murmured. He wanted to find her, somehow, and make sure she was alright. She hadn't done anything wrong. He didn't want to see her hunted down and killed.

Tauriel shook her head. _"I do not know. If she is wise, she will have flown far away from here."_

_ "She hasn't shown great wisdom yet, though."_

The elf nodded hesitantly. _"That may be true."_

_ "Where would she go, then?"_

_ "I do not know. Hopefully she will return to Ered Mithrim to the rest of her kin, where she will not be hunted."_

Maladernil strode over, shaking his head. "It was a mistake to come here," he said softly, using the common tongue. "I ride north as soon as a horse can be spared."

"Why was it a mistake, My Liege?" Tauriel asked, rising to her feet. Aragorn joined her.

"Because there is great darkness here. Did you not ask your men about last night? Do you not find it strange than none of them noticed Telumë until she began to attack the girl?"

Aragorn noticed that Maladernil did not refer to the girl as his niece, which made him think that he doubted the girl's identity as well. Tauriel could not answer, and so Aragorn answered. "Magic," he said softly.

The king nodded gravely. "Magic," he repeated. "Magic much stronger than that of a young dragon."

"What do you think is happening?" Aragorn asked the king, glancing up into the tree where Legolas was perched. Maladernil shook his head and looked around the clearing at his soldiers. Several were moving some of the remaining embers towards the fire. The fire Telumë had caused had taken much of the night to quench, and now they were moving the burning branches into the fire pit to prevent another one.

"I do not know. Something powerful is at work here."

_"Evil?"_ Tauriel asked.

_"I cannot be sure. Certainly it held malice, but not for us; for Telumë. I think that we just happened to be caught in the crossfire."_

_ "What could be powerful enough to direct the gaze of the elves?" _Aragorn asked. He had never heard of such a thing.

Maladernil and Tauriel exchanged glances but said nothing. Aragorn, knowing the stubbornness of elves, knew there was no point in pressing them further so instead he moved around the burned trees. He was searching for some trace of the girl, something she may have left behind. Unfortunately, anything of use had been charred. He had to be careful where he stepped, for much of the ground still glowed from the heat of her flames. He shook his head. There was no telling where the creature was now.

Legolas appeared at the ranger's shoulder. "What are you doing?"

Aragorn glanced over at his friend, noting with some concern the dark shadows beneath his eyes. "Looking for a trace."

"Of the dragon?" Legolas surveyed the ground with interest, and Aragorn felt a pang in his heart. _The dragon_. Not Telumë.

"Her name is Telumë," Aragorn said softly.

The elf's features hardened. "It has no name," he hissed.

Aragorn went to place his hand on his friend's shoulder, but the elf grabbed his wrist. The ranger jerked his arm away, watching his friend warily. He had never acted like this before; there was no reason that he should turn on him as well.

"What had happened to you?" Aragorn asked softly. "Why are you acting this way?"

"The beast you defend killed my niece," Legolas hissed. "Do you not realize this?"

"Have you gone blind?" Aragorn barked. Several elves in the clearing turned their heads to watch the pair, and Maladernil and Tauriel eyed them carefully, both wondering whether they should interfere or not. "Did you not see the girl vanish when Telumë attacked her?"

"I watched her burn," the elf growled, pain filling his gaze. "Her body was devoured by the flames."

Aragorn shook his head before noticing something. Legolas rarely acted unless he knew something for certain. So unless he had abandoned the frame of mind he had possessed for centuries, he really did believe that he had seen Kiyera die. Aragorn closed his eyes. Magic. Of course, the creature imitating Kiyera would want to make sure she appeared dead to those around her; or at least to Legolas. Perhaps it knew that Legolas was the greatest threat to Telumë and so was trying to turn him against her.

Without another word to Legolas, Aragorn turned and nearly ran over to the king and the general watching him. "It's magic," he whispered. "It has to be. He thinks he saw Kiyera die because that's' what was shown to him. We have to break the spell."

Tauriel blinked, glancing over at the prince in surprise. "Are you certain?"

"What else could it be?" Aragorn snapped. "He is not himself."

Maladernil gazed at his younger brother, sorrow prevalent in his eyes. "I believe you are right," he said softly. "And if that is the case, Legolas cannot come with us any longer." Tauriel and Aragorn turned to him, confused. The king explained. "You must take him to Lothlórien. The forest was my safe haven for many decades; its borders will protect him well. Estel, you must speak to the Lady Galadriel, and then go and find Telumë. With her help, perhaps we can break the spell that has been placed over my brother."

"Are you not coming?" Tauriel asked, her fair brow furrowing.

The king shook his head. "I cannot. My kingdom has been without a king for too long. You two must take Legolas and ride to Lothlórien; I will take a few of your soldiers, Tauriel, and return home. When you have spoken to the Lady, ride to my halls. I will meet you there, and we will discuss what to do from there."

The three nodded and separated, each mounting the horse provided for them. Within the hour, all four had dispersed, not knowing of the long journey laid out before them.

**As per usual, there won't be an update for another 3 reviews. I think I've decided (assuming the reviews come in) that I'll update on weekends, since that's when I'm free. Next weekend, however, I'll be out of pocket, so I'll try to be writing snippets all week to publish at the end of this week or the beginning of next week. I hope you're enjoying the story!**


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